Aegis of Candlekeep, Part III
by Kyn
Summary: Yes, you can start reading at Part III. You'll only miss out on learning why the giant ranger protagonist is romancing Xzar, why Edwin and Imoen keep /snuggling/, why Xan and Branwen are so adorable, and who the hell told Viconia and Ajantis they were in charge of keeping each other from party infighting. Lots of dark violence and cute bonding moments, ahoy!
1. The People

Welcome to Aegis of Candlekeep Part III!

Our adventurers have just finished with the Bandit Camp and are recovering as they attempt to figure out what comes next!

BUT FIRST! I should tell you that Fabulous Foster Father Flashback season has returned, in it's traditional _italics_!

...

* * *

_**The People**_

...

* * *

Xan was down for the count. He still sat at Branwen's bed side, as he had intended to watch over her. But at some point he'd laid his elbow down upon the sheets; and eventually he'd placed his cheek down upon his elbow; and, well, after that sleep had happened quite without his say-so. His other hand still held firmly to the hilt of his naked Moonblade.

As she peeked in the temple inpatient room to check on them, Aegis couldn't help but smile tiredly. She came up first to check on Branwen, and noted that the heavily bandaged woman seemed to have greatly improved both in color and respiration. She was sleeping more peacefully now. Aegis placed a hand temporarily on the war-cleric's hair. Then she looked to Xan, who had tried so valiantly to remain awake. His posture looked terribly uncomfortable; like a limp noodle had been tucked up against the side of the bed.

Aegis shook her head. She closed a hand over his, and quietly got the Moonblade sheathed. Then she stooped and eased a hand under his legs and another around his back. He didn't so much as twitch as she picked him up and turned to carry him out.

"W-wait-"

Aegis jumped and twisted about to see Branwen was just barely conscious. Her eyes were heavy, and she clearly didn't have the strength to sit. She'd lifted a hand, though, and was holding it just a few inches off the bed. The ranger blinked in surprise. Then she turned and came back up beside the injured war cleric. She spooned Xan onto the bed beside her, helped Branwen scoot over a few inches, and then settled the other woman's arm around him such that no injuries were being aggravated.

When everything was as it ought to be, the cleric dropped her head back down with a sigh. "Thanks," she mumbled raw to Aegis, who smiled.

"You should have seen your wizard," the ranger whispered. "He planted himself over you and fought off two chargers and a gnoll single-handedly before anyone else could get there."

Branwen smiled faintly. "Really?" she croaked in a small voice.

Aegis nodded. "Get well," she encouraged, and then she stood and tiptoed out of the room.

...

* * *

_[Waterdeep, 20 years ago]_

_When the crying began, Khelben Arunsun; Master of Blackstaff Tower, Chosen of Mystra, Renown Harper, and Archmagus of Waterdeep; gave a heavy sigh._

_"Right on schedule," he determined, standing up out of the arm chair with his morning cup of chicory in one hand and his mail trailing behind him in a current of unopened envelopes. He strode over to the infant's cradle with the aid of his staff, and then peered reproachfully downward once he'd reached its side. "Good morning, Tiny Monster," he greeted the girl._

_Little Aegis pouted up at him, as his was not the precise elderly face which she had hoped to see. She wiggled and kicked in displeasure for a moment, mussing up her tufts of bright golden hair. She gummed on her fingers and blanket._

_Khelben took a sip of his chicory; it was scarcely dawn. "If my calculations are correct," he informed her, "Gorion is currently out in town to purchase groceries. From our previous experience on the matter, and taking into account that today is the first Saturday of the month, I believe we may expect him back at no later than twelve."_

_She mumbled inquisitively._

_"Yes, yes; even if he stops to augment your ever-increasing collection of toys. An estimate of ten and a half bells would no doubt be nearer to accurate. What say you to that?"_

_Aegis hummed almost thoughtfully around her blanket. Khelben took another sip of his chicory, waiting expectantly. Aegis looked up at him again with her eyebrows pinched together in an incredibly troubled way; and for a moment he was convinced that this would be one of those _loud_ mornings. Then abruptly she gave a tiny happy murmur, and she flailed about in an excited manner that suggested she both recognized the archmagus and was happy to see him there._

_Khelben affected to look unmoved by her display of recognition. But after a moment he released his cup to join his floating envelopes, and left his staff standing on it's lonesome, and he leaned over to pull the plump little girl out of her cradle. He bounced her gently a few times and then attempted to scowl at her delighted smile._

_"You know it's not healthy for a man to remain cooped up in a tower his whole life," the Archmagus lectured her. "Even a wizard! The only reason I don't tell him about how you bawl the whole time he's gone is because then I don't think he'd ever leave even to go shopping. People need fresh air."_

_Aegis tugged on his hair, still beaming delightedly._

_"And the only reason I've taken it upon myself to come down here and coddle you is because I am lord of the tower, and I am aware of what goes on on in my tower where anyone else would be deaf and blind. And you make an incredibly unpleasant racket, you know? Howling for hour after hour after hour."_

_"Ua!" the child told him._

_"Well yes. I am able to selectively ignore things," he admitted. "But that's beside the point! What sort of man ignores a crying baby? Particularly a man who has fathered children of his own?"_

_"Bwu."_

_"Precisely," he sniffed. "Making you a terrible handful. Do you realize how many trips I've turned down recently just so one traumatized man can get fresh air and attend to his own grocery shopping?" He shook a finger at her. "Not to mention I risk his suspicion and confusion should he realize anyone is seeing to you without his knowledge!"_

_"Aba?"_

_"No, no; I can't volunteer to babysit you while he's gone, particularly if he presumes you sleep soundly the whole while! I am an archmage, child, my time is valuable!" __He chose one of her animal dolls and placed it into her hands.__ "See what a handful you are?"_

_"Uu."_

_Khelben sighed resignedly and settled back down into the arm chair, calling forth his chicory for another sip and then returning to his mail. His staff hopped along after him. Aegis gummed happily on her doll and turned it about in circles. After a moment, she looked up at him with concern._

_"Deuaba?"_

_"Mm? What? Again? Bah. Very well," he submitted, "I'll read them aloud. Boring as they may be. This one is from..."_

...

* * *

Ajantis and Viconia looked up at Aegis as she returned, and Dynaheir stepped forward tiredly. "How are they?" the Wychlaran inquired.

"Looks like Bran'll be fine," Aegis informed them. "Everyone should get some sleep."

Dynaheir shook her head wordlessly. "I am going for a walk around the garden," she answered, and then she shuffled off. Both Minsc and a very groggy Viconia each tried to rise and follow her, but she waved for them not to get up.

Aegis frowned, coming up to stand beside a confused-looking Rashemi beserker. _I'll need to talk to her soon._ She looked down at the bald man. "Go follow her anyway," she told him. "I'm not entirely convinced we're all safe yet."

Minsc blinked at her and then seemed incredibly thankful to be given instruction. He nodded solemnly and got up to follow his charge.

With a sigh, Aegit turned to check on Shar-Teel. The fightress was unconscious and still covered in large quantities of other peoples' blood. She'd slept the majority of the ride to Beregost, and had passed out again shortly after their arrival.

"Shar-Teel is fine," Ajantis reassured their leader, who paused. "Just tired." The paladin was clearly not ready for bed; and to keep sane, he had set to preparing his arms and armor for mending at the Thunderhammer Smithy. Viconia sat beside him, her eyes closed against the brightness of day.

"I wonder," the drow drawled of their paladin. "Do you think Shar-Teel will remember she rode with _you_ all the way back?"

Ajantis shuddered and made a sign against evil in the air in front of him. Viconia peered at this and chuckled. She pulled her blankets more tightly around her, and then listed slightly to the side. Ajantis grasped her shoulder just before she fell over. She grimaced slightly, opening one red eye. The paladin eased his arm around her and gave her a little pat. Without thinking much about it, she scooted into him and pillowed her head against his side.

Aegis watched the paladin for a moment, a smirk tugging at her lips. Then she turned and stepped over to where she'd lain Kivan down temporarily upon her palette. She knelt, ran a hand gently over the wild elf's hair, and then began stripping off his borrowed armor. When she saw he was wearing little real clothing underneath, she tried to remember which of her companions was about his size. _The two closest are Branwen and Edw-_ Aegis grimaced. After a moment, she decided Khalid most likely wouldn't mind if she nicked a tunic and leggings.

Kivan had a few cuts and more than a few bruises. She gingerly reached over to appraise a thick swath of purple at his side. _Busted ribs_.

Approaching footsteps startled her, and she looked up to see Viconia. The drow paused beside her, looking across the extent of Kivan's mottled white scarring for the first time. Aegis tensed, grabbing at the palette blanket and pulling it partially over him for decency's sake. "Hey Viccy, don't," the big woman protested.

Viconia raised her hands submissively. "I will not mention them to him, or to anyone," she said tiredly. "Was this the half-ogre's work?" Aegis frowned and did't answer. Viconia looked up at her. "I... I only wish to help you tend to him," she explained haltingly. "You know I do not echo his hatred of me."

Aegis frowned. Viconia tended to be a trouble locus even when she was on her best behavior. Still, this was likely the drow's way of 'apologizing' for her actions in Ulcaster, and Aegis had no doubt she'd confuse and disorient Viconia if she scolded her or turned her away. "Alright. I want to ask you about his hands. But if he wakes up, run."

...

* * *

When they had finished bandaging Kivan's ribs and other injuries, and Aegis had properly clothed him, Viconia picked up one of his hands and examined the condition of his finger stubs. "He was using a bow in this condition?" she wondered.

"He killed Tazok," Aegis agreed. "Can a cleric fix them?"

"Without the severed fingers to reattach, it will be difficult. But yes, I think so. Using the right components." She settled his arm down. "Does it matter, if he intends to die?" Aegis gave the drow a dirty look. Viconia considered the expression. "I was wondering if you might be able to explain something else to me," she said after a moment. "Why is Dynaheir upset? She was victorious."

Aegis glanced after the direction Dyn had disappeared in. Then she sighed, and set to tucking Kivan into the blankets. "She didn't want to kill someone she knew."

"Why? There was no warmth there. He was her enemy, and a particularly satisfying roach to crush. At the very least, his death was required to ensure her survival," Viconia reminded her.

Aegis scratched her chin and then shrugged. "Let's say you travel with us for a few months in peace. Then, suddenly, you go on a murderous rampage sacrificing orphans to Shar. Well, Ajantis would be obligated to kill you. And if he succeeded, he'd be acting pretty similar to Dyn afterwards."

Something the ranger said must have resonated with Viconia because she nodded. "You mean to say that Dynaheir was dismayed to watch anyone pass the point of redemption?"

_Redemption? _Aegis grunted in agreement, reminding herself that Xzar wasn't the only person with a terrible history and many tales best left untold. After a moment, she stood and dusted off her hands. Viconia rose and turned to rejoin Ajantis. "Hey, there's something I've been meaning to ask you, Viconia. Do you... _resent_ being dragged around on all these 'adventures' just because you don't know where else to go?"

Viconia blinked as if surprised by the query. "No," she answered, and she sounded remarkably earnest.

...

* * *

When Aegis approached him, Xzar glanced up at her. He was tired, she saw, but his harlequin facepaint helped accentuate a not-entirely-friendly mirth she saw in his eyes. The greasepaint had held up well, even after so much rain. He was leaning against a pillar apart from the group, and appeared to have been talking to himself. Pretzels was curled up in his arms.

"Helllooo, my _Moaratuk,_" the necromancer greeted in a low and over-accentuated voice. "How's your cute little wolf-elf? Tucked away securely in your bed, mm? Wrapped up and lavished in mummy's tender, wuving care?"

Aegis slowed her stride, looking at the necromancer curiously. She took a moment to try and figure out what precisely she'd just walked into.

"Your boot lace is untied," the agitated wizard informed her.

Aegis looked down. So it was. She knelt and set to lacing it. "Alright Kettle, I'll bite: What's bothering you?" she asked him.

"Well!" he exclaimed with a dramatic flourish, standing upright and letting Pretzels hop to the ground. "I _merely_ wanted some clarification on the aforementioned sylvan! I asked you outside of Beregost when he shot arrows at us, did I not? Yes? No?"

Aegis looked up at him in surprise. Xzar was gushing dramatically and sibilantly through sentence after sentence.

"Are you enamored with the pretty green doggy? Are you after a morsel of fae? Miss goody-two-shoes-goody-goody-pants: I would like to inform you that a _warning _ or acknowledgement might have been nice; perhaps a two-weeks notice of termination of employment; a hint; or a perhaps a scavenger game-"

As she finished tying her laces, Aegis propped her elbow up on her knee and leaned her chin against her palm. Her expression got more and more amused as he went along.

"I even would have even taken a message rendered in interpretive dance conducted by beetles under a-" he paused as he noticed she was not upset, and his tirade trailed off. Then he fidgeted uncertainly. "Well, what? What's that face? I know it not, and I have seen many. Wait! I do know it! Is that the addrifyingly teorable face? Have I done something cute? No; preposterous, I was only-!"

"Oh you are absolutely adriffying teorable, mister death wizard," Aegis drawled slyly.

Xzar frowned, trying to take this new information into account. Abruptly he no longer looked serpentine or venomous. "Well _that_ is odd," he hummed, placing his hands thoughtfully upon his hips. "I was expecting more verbal sparring... A little yelling; a healthy dose of passive aggressiveness; and- hmm..."

"Are you _jealous_?" she asked with smug and adoring wonder. "Am I actually looking at 'Xzar's rendition of The Insecure Boyfriend in A Minor' right now?"

The necromancer put his arms behind his back and rubbed one uncertainly against the other. He writhed and wiggled in place, clearly not knowing what to say. "Well... well you know I was- I was thinking it could be a major key. They aren't so bad you know. E, there are some very good tunes in E Major... "

"Granted," she agreed, standing up slowly and coming over to the necromancer.

"There was that one," he thought, "how did it go...?"

"Don't. sing." Aegis suggested with a grin, lifting her hands and moving them about his waist that she might grab his forearms and bring them back out in front of them again. The necromancer frowned, lowering his head and curling his posture sort of nervously. He pouted up at her, uncertain what to think. Still, he pressed the issue:

"It... I... Ehm... Well technically speaking, you are both rangers. And... well... he doesn't try to eat Harpers? And, ehm, well you do like saving people from themselves, so there is that..."

"That greasepaint held up surprisingly well," she remarked, lifting a hand to grasp his chin and tilting his head up for examination. The glasgow smile had been smudged slightly on one side, but the spade over his eye was still perfect, as were the dots above his opposite brow. "It didn't run at _all, _and we just went through a tempest. Remind me to ask the Mirrorshades the next time I need any form of paint."

"Are you even listening to me?" he muttered vexedly. "Do you have leaves in your brain again? Honestly, this is so like you, sometimes! One day its all fun and word games, and then the next it's:" his voice rose into a shrill falsetto, "Oh I want to talk Xzar, I want to discuss important things!" his voice lowered again and he threw up his arms, "But it's a _trap_ and then-!"

"And then what?" she asked, running her thumb tenderly over his lower lip and tracing along the glasgow smile. The necromancer swallowed, his eyes widening appreciatively at her. There was no one in the world quite as skilled in distracting him as his Nature Childe.

"Well... then typically we have sex on a dresser," he admitted, mouth dry.

"I see_,_" she considered, stepping closer to blot out the rest of the world. "And does my voice really sound like that?"

"No. No it does not," he confessed. "Yours is a dry but noteworthy alto." Then he abruptly trembled, and he raised his hands appraisingly to her own. "How do you know to _do_ that, Moaratuk?" he mumbled quietly into her fingers.

Aegis let him keep her hands for the moment. "The smile?" she she wondered. He nodded mutely into her fingers, gazing off at nothing and appearing quite spooked. "Ehm... Curiosity, trial and error, listening for a unnecessarily loud shriek of 'Stop Touching Me,' and then watching your face. Frankly, you feature a fantastically forthcoming face, my frazzled Fool."

Xzar blinked thoughtfully for a few moments. Then he lowered her hands from his mouth to confirm: "So you don't climb in my head and steal my thoughts?"

"Not usually," she assured him.

"I see." The necromancer considered as he dropped his head again. "So everything _is_ up to me, then."

Aegis detached one of her hands and waved it in front of his face. Xzar looked up at her foggily, as if she were literally waving aside some miasma. "Last time I saw you jealous, you were evicting Garrick from the dirt on my left hand side," she remembered jovially. "And you built a tiny castle and stuck a flag with an 'X' on it in the castle."

Her necromancer blinked slowly. Then he snorted out a giggle, closed his eyes, and raised his hands quickly to cover his face. "It... it made sense at the time!" he assured her. "It did!"

Aegis' eyes widened. "Are you _blushing_?" she cooed excitedly, trying to get him to lower his hands so she could see his face. He refused her, giggling harder and shaking his head. She pulled him into a hug instead, and he nestled happily into her.

"We-we have _changed_!" he claimed, twisting about in her arms to lean his back into her chest. She kisses his temple and held him to her gratefully. "We have changed a lot! I am more anchored, obviously... But _you_..."

"Mm? How have _I_ changed?" she wondered doubtfully of the madman, rocking them both gently form side to side.

"On the Lion's Way, I met a frightened and awkward child fresh out from under daddy's skirts; a kitten," he told her. "Now here stands a woman men fear and trust; a lioness. Yes, lioness, that's a good word: You are even _golden _to match it."

Aegis looked both doubtful and a little unsettled. "It's only been a few months, she disagreed.

"Oh, I think for you it has been years," he disagreed. "And for me a few months turned tremendously transformative! No?"

The ranger was quiet, frowning down at nothing.

Xzar frowned and lifted his fingers gently to her chin. Her gaze flit immediately to him, and he saw that while her brows were creased with stress, her expression was open and trusting. He shuddered reflexively and pet over her hair. "The Nature Childe is looking pensive now. Is there anything her Fool might do to help ease her mind?"

"I..." she hesitated. "I have no one left to take care of," she admitted. "People might be in danger and I just left them out there. The last time I left someone behind was-"

Xzar gave her a tender little smack upon the cheek to get her attention. "My dear," he told her wryly, "the only danger Imoen is in with Jaheira is the danger of having her ear nagged off. You were our leader, and you delegated as was needed." When she seemed unconvinced, he tutted. "Come now, come now, Little Death_._ You can't do everything; It's not like you're a _god_."

Aegis narrowed her eyes at him, a tolerant 'I see what you did there' expression quirking at the corners of her mouth.

He smiled charmingly and cupped her jawline. "Remember why you needed to move so briskly: we barely brought a bawling Xan's breviloquent beauty, Branwen, back to Beregost in time."

"You mean: before her bravely born burns could bury the buxom blonde?" Aegis queried.

Xzar sighed delightedly as he wrapped his arms about hers, and he wondered: "How does a woman with a head full of leaves become fond of _words_, my Deva?"

"She must well educated and like historical literature," Aegis suggested. "Around half of which ends up recorded in verse." Then she hugged him tightly all of a sudden, and buried her face into his graham hair.

Xzar took in a slow breath, considering this. "Moaratuk, I have one other question. Perhaps insensitive? Bad timing? No; see, it is on her mind already; nostalgia should be measured, not bottled. Very well, I will make the attempt: Aegis, If you could ask your father- the Harper father- one question now that you are 'grown,' what would it be?"

Without thinking, Aegis answered: "I'd ask for him what every word of every book he'd ever read was."

Xzar was rightly baffled by the reply. "For what purpose?"

"There are no easy answers," the ranger answered quietly. "So, if I could only ask one question, I'd rather just have an excuse to hear his voice for as long as possible."

The necromancer deflated thoughtfully, his gaze drifting. "You loved the old monk a great deal..."

She shrugged her heavy shoulders. "He loved me first."

Xzar felt vaguely guilty and glanced briefly back to the pillar where he had been leaning. Pretzels was peering curiously up at the opposite side. Best not to draw attention to it. There was something else he ought to ask his lady... something even more important. Xzar wet his lips. "I recall you did not handle Kagain's death well."

Aegis flinched.

"Mm. Well, we're now short an extraordinarily amusing and pompous red wind bag. How do you feel about dear Edwin's betrayal and death? Or does it affect you less when yours isn't the hand to strike the final blow?"

Aegis was quiet a moment. "What if I told you that I don't think he's dead?"

...

* * *

{That is absolutely disgusting,} the Thayvian informed her in his native Mulhorandi. {You are telling me that whenever they are available, you _crumple_ up latrine tissues in a _wad_ before wiping? Were you born in a _barn_?}

Imoen threw her arms in the air. {It maximizes distance from the fingers by using air space, dummy! What about you- you _fold_ them? What, like napkins then? Stuff bleeds through napkins ya know!}

{Not if you pay attention to what you are doing! _You _just smash a random bundle together and hope for the best-!}

"Much as I hate to interrupt what must be an absolutely_ riveting_ conversation," Jaheira began dryly, "but what exactly do you intend on saying to the group once we've arrived?"

Edwin and Imoen jumped and looked back at her mid-gesticulation. "Ehrm," the former collected himself. "The, eh, druid... raises a valid point." Imoen had missed his dramatically flourished 'r's, and the one in 'druid' was definitely one of his best.

"Ayup," the thief agreed. "We need a plan."

Jaheira snorted. She'd decided long ago against informing either of the two children than she was proficient in Mulhorandi. "That you do. Dynaheir will be no more impressed by either of your words this time than last."

"We should go straight to Aeg," Imoen stressed. "She'll at least _listen_ to the whole story now that things aren't so urgent, and she'll gather the others to have them listen, too."

Edwin crossed his arms over his chest and looked unconvinced. "She welcomed Dynaheir back into the group without question, right after the woman broke our golden rule against infighting and tried to murder me. (Ungrateful cur.) And then she agreed with all these fools that killing me was a _necessity. _Does that sound unbiased?"

"Okay, listen here mister grumpy-entitled-muttering-pants: you have one of the meanest, rudest, least sympathetic, most arrogant manners of speaking that I have ever heard from anyone," she rebuked him in a sassy voice. "You provoked Dyn-dyn; it was never entirely clear to anyone _who_ hit who else first; and you had blatantly let everyone know you intended to kill her. What do you think _anyone's_ going to read out of that? You think you made it _easy_ to believe that she started it?"

"Eh..." he hesitated, scratching at his jawline. He desperately needed better circumstances under which to groom himself.

"In short, you are a terrible speaker," the druid informed him sagely. "Which is remarkable, given how frequently you run your mouth..."

Brown eyes narrowed at her: "And am I to be lectured on it by an overbearing harpy matron-"

"Oh come on, ya provoke people constantly!" Imoen continued, waggling her arms. "I mean, half the time it's clear you _intend_ to; but the other half of the time, Iunno, ya seem to be completely oblivious! It's like this: you have two modes in conversation and they're just 'Wheedle' and 'Demean.' "

"Look, foolish child, I did not survive so long in this world and somehow fail to learn how to keep my foot of my mouth-!"

"_You_ are not currently in _Thay_," the druid prodded him in the chest with her staff. "Mouth-feet look different here. And what you might deem civil conversation is not going to earn you friends on the morrow."

"Yes, and why the devil would I want friendship from you again?" Edwin growled, eyeing the half-elf suspiciously. "You simians nearly killed me. As it was over a misunderstanding, I can _graciously_ overlook-"

"He's _doomed_," Imoen sighed in an excellent mimicry of Xan's voice. "Well, no, he'll _Dimension Door_ out before anyone can kill him. But my mentorship is so doomed, and I'm going to be completely alone and bored and miserable again."

Jaheira sighed. "Why, oh why, did you pick _this _self-important_ fool_ to teach you magic?" she asked.

"Hey, I like him!" Imoen defended her wizard with a cheeky grin. "His abrasiveness is part of his charm. Also, he had nice hair. We're working on that."

"Oh is that so? Well, I'm enlightened on the ever-expanding realm of personal taste," Jaheira muttered. "Though I am somewhat concerned yours is masochistic."

"Hey!" both Pink and Red complained, and then looked bewildered at one another.

Edwin scowled. "Are you both _finished_?" he demanded.

Imoen grabbed his arm and tugged him forward to join them. "You stop being offended, and focus!" she chastised him. "You're terribly smart, so put that genius intellect into figuring out how you're going to keep an incredibly offended and suspicious party from murdering you!"

"And what would you monkeys have me say but the truth? Undermine Viconia? Point out the witch has been less than honest with-"

"Oh don't be all buffleheaded; You have to say the truth in the _right way_!" Imoen beamed. "A disarming way!"

Edwin twitched. "Wait, wait. _You_ would have _me_ behave _disarmingly?"_ he asked her very dryly. "Excuse me, but do I look like a bouncy, pink girl to you? (Honestly, why am I listening to-)" Imoen pinched him.

"Well would it help if we removed your arm again, or are you requesting to be castrated?" Jaheira inquired. Edwin gave her a dirty look. "We all took watch looking out for you after Nashkel, Red Wizard," the druid reminded him. "We did not leave you to perish then. If you wish to accompany Imoen any further than Juggler's front door mat, then you are offering to accompany _us_. And as we are a team, you owe us one damned polite explanation."

The Thayvian wasn't sure what to make of that advice, but he straightened a little. "I have no problem with contributing my powers to the group or pulling my weight. And as I believe I've said; I did _not_ ever intend to fight the party. Our goals align, and I have no quarrel with any of you, so I do not see the problem."

Jaheira planted her staff in the dirt and twisted to face him, a hand upon her opposite hip. Edwin came up short behind her, uncertain whether or not she intended to provoke a fight.

Instead she leaned forward, and fixed him with an almost amused expression. "You truly are so clueless?" the half-elf wondered. "How about this: you carried off a beserker's last surviving immediate family member on the back of a horse, with the pretense of enslaving her and bringing her back to your homeland as some perverse form of trophy. Do you think the revelation of your true intentions will somehow immediately expunge the memory of _terrified fury_ from Aegis' mind?"

The Thayvian's face creased in dismay. "Ehm... well..."

Jaheira smirked, and in a very sweet voice said: "Good luck sugarcoating that, Edwin." Then she chuckled and continued walking.

Imoen looked up at Edwin.

"I do not think 'Nice' is my strongest suite," the conjurer decided in a strained voice.

Imoen raised a brow. "Your _strongest_ suite?" she asked incredulously. "You use a deck that has Nice _in_ it? What the hells have you been discarding!?"

Edwin looked at her, and then made as if to hold up an invisible rummy hand. He turned it to face her, and Imoen had to school her face to utmost sincerity lest she bust out laughing. Was he actually _playing _with her? "I have a three of Nice. What can I do with that?"

"Wait for a two, four, five, and six?" she suggested hopefully.

Edwin looked dismayed at his 'cards.' "But I have a Royal Flush in 'Burn Everything to the Ground'," he lamented.

She sighed high and nodded understandingly as she linked her elbow with his and patted his arm: "Ah, when all one has is a hammer..."

...

* * *

_[Calimshan, 20 Years earlier]_

_It was only noon, but Tallix Snapdragon was enjoying a glass of wine by herself in the dimmest corner of the inn. The exterior light was blocked out by heavy shutters and carpet drapes, and the atmosphere was cozy enough. She had her feet kicked up as she hummed Brown Little Nightingale. She was buffing out a hangnail from work that morning. _

_Beside her knee sat a plate with a lone slice of cake (Yes, only one, she'd assured the innkeeper, who had never heard of a halfling ordering 'one' of anything) with a single candle burning away. The numerals "86" had been stabbed clear through the top of the little slice._

_Well, she'd be visiting Moonsea now. Plenty of time to step in and say hello; to see who was home, and who was out, and who might actually be dead this time._

_"You're Nightal's eldest child lil' gale,  
Sing beckon coming icy rose, over crumpling leaves..."  
_

_The doors of the inn swung open, and Tallix barely glanced up as two half-elves entered. "Khalid..." one murmured, as the other swiftly obtained a strong order of drink._

_"Tremble o'er the murmurous haunt,  
of flies on autumn's passing eves..."_

_Tallix finished with her nails as the half-elves shifted about and found their seat. She tucked away her nail file and pulled out her pipe, and began to properly pack it with leaf. _Khalid... Khalid, Khalid, Khalid;_ where had she heard that name? _No..._ Was she about to get lucky?_

_"I don't know why I even come back anymore," the male half-elf broke the silence at last. "I don't know what I even..."_

_"Shh, shh..." the female told him. "Don't talk like that, Khalid; fatalism doesn't become you."_

_Tallix picked up the last remains of her sad birthday candle, and tipped it to light her pipe. She spent some time situating it to her liking, and puffing gently to get the leaf smoking. _

_"This feels like home and yet does not," the one called Khalid admitted. "Next year or the year after, my father might not be alive to come home to. But... every time he just... just... and now, to disapprove of_ you,_ Jaheira, when all my life he-_"

_Tallix tilted her head back, and breathed out a stream of smoke. _Jaahheeira._ A smirk tugged the corner of the elderly halfling's face. __She knew that name._ The devil was 'Rion's thing for pretty half-elves...?

_"Well, he is a merchant. I am a druid..." the woman, Jaheira, mused. "I did not take it personally..."_

_"I did," Khalid sighed into his drink. _

_A commotion rose up outside. One of the few bar patrons got up and went to the door to listen. Then his eyes widened. "They say there's been a murder!" he called; and indeed that appeared to be what the people outside were yelling. Of course there were murders all the time in the streets Calimshan, which had bred some of the world's greatest and most notorious information brokers, and assassins. __Tiggerwillies was a good example of the former; and as for the latter..._

_Well, regardless, it must have been_ quite_ a murder._

_The Harpers stood up and made their way to the doors that they might ask questions. Tallix tapped out her pipe, took a big bite out of her cake, and then swung her boots to the floor. She stood up in no particular hurry, dusted off her cloak, and went to pay for her meal. She left as casually as she had come._

_She was following in the Harper duo's shadows within thirty seconds. _

...

* * *

Aegis watched as Dynaheir finally entered, and Minsc steered her off to bed. The ranger loosed a heavy breath. Her necromancer giggled.

Xzar was sitting on a pillow at Aegis feet. He had worked the blood out of her hair and wiped her face of greasepaint. Then he'd stripped her down out of her armor and was soaking her hands and feet in warm water while he helped to get her clean. Her fingers were busted up in places from glancing injuries; and blistered in places they were not sufficiently calloused.

"Thanks for taking care of me," she told him after a moment. "I guess I was a mess."

"T'was my right. Even leaders need coddling," the necromancer teased sleepily. Then he blinked rapidly when Aegis once more perked up. After a moment, he twisted about to see an unexpected person in stylish leathers was approaching them. The man had his arms crossed over his chest in a comfortable and cocksure way, and his indolent smirk had returned in force.

"Well, well, well. Fancy meeting you here, m'lady," the man purred.

Xzar's upper lip curled, and he felt an unspoken growl building up in his belly.

"Eldoth Kron," Aegis intoned warily. "I thought you intended to go your seperate way..."

"And well I did; so I'll suppose it's entirely coincidence we both came here then," he agreed. "But now I've my proper boots and trappings; my bow; my lute... And you've gone and decapitated an entire camp of bandits. It seems our deal worked out to both our liking's. Perhaps we should conspire again in the future?"

"How about you come out and say whatever it is you want," she suggested.

"Oh, no need to bristle so," the bard assured her. "I will be heading on to Beregost once I've purchased some minor healing supplies. I suppose you might head that way by tomorrow? Well, either way: look me up if you have need of palatable company or far-reaching ears."

"I thought you were heading to Baldur's Gate."

"I intend to," he agreed. "But that might... not resolve itself as fast as you'd think," he put it delicately. "See: Word from the bandits is they closed the city gates a few days back. And if it took them this long to close the door, well, think how long it might take them to open it again."

Aegis considered this news.

"And what do _you_ intend on doing in the meanwhile?"

He shrugged. "Well far be it from me to sully the reputation Shar-Teel has no doubt cut for me as a freeloader; but I was working at as an escort and caravan guard before we were waylaid by bandits. I do, m'lady, actually earn my own keep." He smiled.

Aegis settled a little. After a moment, she nodded.

"Well, that is all, I think," the bard decided. "I'll not take any more of your time. A pleasure doing business with you, Aegis of Candlekeep." He bowed out.

Aegis watched the bard depart, and then eventually looked down at her necromancer. He was twisted and hunched beside her legs like a starved and bitterly territorial howler demon. A smirk dragged across her face. "Well now you're just being _silly_."

...

* * *

Onward Ho!


	2. Loss

Short chapter :) Lot's of stuff, thou!

...

* * *

**Loss**

...

* * *

Long brown lashes fluttered. Lupine eyes opened slowly; the green irises thin around dilated and unfocused pupils.

The world was a soup of color and blinding light. The air was heavy; it carried the weight of the Snowflake Mountains.

And there was _pain._

Pain in every nerve, in every thread, in every bone, in every beat of the heart. Pain; pain in every last remaining scar.

_No. No, please. Please, take me, please do not leave me here. Please do not make me face another dawn without her. _

Soft fingers caressed gently over his hair. They had been there for some time; but he hadn't felt them. Again and again they stroked. They had a comb. Here and there they paused; here and there they worked out a knot. How _long_ must that have taken them, to get his hair to lie relatively untangled? When was the last time a woman had combed his hair? His stomach churned. Tears brimmed along his eyes.

_It's over. Isn't it over? Please take me; I am ready to go._

The comb paused, and the fingers separated a very small amount of hair into three divisions. Each was gently and meticulously straightened; and then the fingers began to twine them together.

_Why did the half-ogre's sword not pierce my breast as I finished him? Why was she there? Why would she not let me pass?_

The fingers finished the braid and started on another. He trembled, his breath rough with pain. So much pain. A hand returned to soothe him, petting over his hair and shoulder. A warm body sat beside his; a hip and leg making contact with his back.

_I promised her. I promised I would look after her. Her and her sister._ Tears dripped down his face. _Do not abandon me to this alone, Night hunter! Please... please, I know not how to- how to- _

The hands upon him were not oblivious to his wakefulness, or his pain. He heard soft breath nearby as someone leaned over to observe. The hands rested uncertainly upon his skin. Then- with the hesitance of a child- fingertips slowly drifted up the scars and the side of his neck, and slipped up against the backside of his upturned ear. His eyes closed to slits.

_It was I that turned aside Tazok's sword. It was I that... Not yet... I can't... I _won't_... go yet..._

The touch trace gingerly along the back and edge of his ear, as if afraid of hurting him. He might have chuckled; there were only the ghosts of pain left anymore, and little of a real living thing left to hurt. And yet... and yet he felt it. He felt the pain. But he felt the touch, sending soothing whispers out through his body.

_Help me. I have to keep... Please teach me. Please help me quell this, if only for a short while. W-what must I do? What need is there left of me?_

Suddenly, with rich clarity, Kivan thought of the drow.

Above her he saw Shevarash's eternal mortal enemy: he saw Araushnee, elfin goddess of destiny, with webs spidering over her body as her skin darkened from brown to black and her hair spiraled white; as the rivers ran red; as she became the betrayer of the elven race, and descended as the demon Queen, _Lolth._

He thought of the cleric, the drow, Viconia; with her yellow hood framing her haughty smirk, and the glimmer of her infravision blazing out from the depths of her soulless red eyes. His fingers clenched slightly, and his teeth grit tightly together.

_I will give you her heart._

His fingers loosened. His jaw relaxed. Aegis was usually rough and coarse; encompassing and bold in everything she did. But the touch against his ear was so delicate it almost tickled. Up and down the fingertips traced, each caress singing along his nerves in soothing tremors. The pain was becoming easier; and for awhile perhaps he dozed.

The hands had left his ear and returned to braiding. He was more cognizant, and the old ghosts of scar pain had receded. His ribs were presently damaged; he realized. And his fingers ached; what was left of them. But these were not intolerable. Slowly he tuned in to the sounds of breathing, and the feeling of the braiding.

And then suddenly he realized something was very amiss. The woman beside him-

_It's not mellon'nin?_

It had never been. Thinking back, he was sure he had not felt the aura of Death nearby; it wasn't Aegis. Fingers were too soft, and too slender; but it was also not Imoen for the same reason it was not Aegis. Who else would touch him? So intimately? Not Jaheira. Branwen knew better, and was neither gentle. Which other woman might braid his hair? Xan _might _if he were particularly worried.

Kivan rolled sharply onto his back and into the leg of the woman beside him.

Sitting there, her black fingers still caught in his hair and her crimson eyes widening in alarm, was _Viconia_.

...

* * *

A number of people woke up to the sounds of shouting. Xzar propped himself up on both hands, blinking slowly. Aegis mumbled something dazedly in either Auld Thari or whatever ancient language had served as the base for Zhentarim Argot. Shar-Teel rolled over. Ajantis had scrambled upright and out of his sleeping bag before he was even fully conscious, and had his scabbard in one hand and his sword in the other.

"V-viconia!" Dynaheir sputtered in alarm, crawling out of her blankets and stumbling to her feet. "Aegis!"

"Aegis!" Ajantis shouted simultaneously, and Xzar clambered off of her just in time for the ranger to leap dazedly to her feet. Minsc was also getting up; and so was Khalid.

Ajantis had dropped his sword and scabbard at his pack and rushed forward bare-handed. There was a splash. Aegis blinked sleepily."Gods _damn_ it!" she sputtered. Then she bolted forward when she realized that Viconia and Kivan were in an _unarmed_ grapple, they had just wrestled one another into the central fountain. "He's going to try to drown her!"

"Or the other way around!" Ajantis exclaimed, horrified. He already had a good lead on them.

"His hands are maimed!" Dynaheir shouted in reminder to them.

Ajantis skid to a halt by the fountain just as Kivan snarled and Viconia surged out of water, gasping in air and grabbing furiously at the wild elf's neck. He hissed at her, grabbing at her head and attempting to shove a thumb through one of her eyes.

"Break free of him!" Ajantis shouted, clambering into the fountain

Viconia was coughing out water. It was a surprisingly deep pool. "I'm- trying! A-Ahh-Aj-_AJANTIS!_"

There was nothing which could get a paladin moving faster than a damsel in distress; and Ajantis grabbed hold of Kivan's arm and twisted the wrist outward just in time to spare Viconia a gruesomely efficient blinding. "Let GO of her!" he commanded angrilly

Kivan turned a vicious glare on him, his eyes flaming green. Someone had combed out his hair; and braids of elvish fashion had been woven into it. "You are a_ paladin!"_ Kivan shouted in a raspy bellow. "She is an evil god's _cleric! _Do you want to fall from Helm's grace!?"

Ajantis floundered backwards a step in surprise. Kivan immediately threw his weight back into Viconia; but the cleric had been ready for such a move. She kicked out at his leg as he surged forward, and with a scream she had reversed their positions and had the leverage of being on top. Kivan snatched and grabbed for purchase against her throat and shoulders, but with his hands so wounded he could barely put up a proper fight in such a position.

Viconia had nearly had one of her eyes pulped into its own socket, and she was in no merciful mood. With a rush of adrenaline, she brought her closed fist down on the elf, and struck him full across the face. She hit so hard she stumbled slightly, but when Kivan tried to throw her off again she clung to her-position with a grit-toothed and vicious fury.

"Viconia!" Ajantis exclaimed, sloshing back towards them. "Back off!" What a time for Kelddath's Sirines to be absent from the sanctum, busy as they were tending to him after Branwen's healing! Those few acolytes who remained were stunned over what to do.

She lifted a hand to strike at the struggling elf again. Ajantis floundered forward to grab at her arm. Viconia saw him coming. She screamed again, releasing Kivan and throwing both her elbow and her weight into the paladin's solar plexus. Ajantis went down with a sharp and unvoiced release of air, splashing under the water.

Kivan scrambled backwards, regaining his footing. Viconia threw herself at him. Kivan whirled her into the water. Viconia hauled him down with her and kicked off the ground. They both went under the surface; but she was the one who got on top. Her fingers grabbed tightly at his throat, her white hair drifting up in a mane about her. They struggled, kicking at the ground and writhing.

Dynaheir and Khalid skid to a halt as they reached the fountain; but Aegis and Minsc vaulted straight in. The rangers seized hold of Ajantis first, grabbing hold of the paladin's arms and pulling him up out of the water.

Ajantis, who had inhaled water and nearly suffocated, had nevertheless stayed conscious. He choked out a rush of fluid and blood, grabbing feebly at the rangers' shoulders. Minsc gave him a thunderous pat upon the back.

"Kivan!" Aegis shouted. "Minsc, hold him!" She tried to pull free, but Ajantis collapsed and so she was rendered momentarily trapped by trying to keep him upright. "Khalid- Dyn-!"

"I-I-!"

Viconia surfaced with a coughing gasp near the edge of the fountain. She grimaced and then, with a shriek of anger, she heaved Kivan back up out of the water, and shoved the Wild Elf face-first onto the fountain edge.

The fluid-filled intake of air he made was music to Aegis' ears. Then he was coughing painfully over the side of the fountain, water coming up from his nose and mouth as he held feebly to the ledge.

"Kivan!" Aegis exclaimed as Khalid reached forward to grasp the wild elf's shoulders and absolutely did not let him go free. Ajantis was managing to stand. Dynaheir was making eye contact with Viconia, who had stood upright in the fountain behind Kivan and whom was glaring at his head. The drow's whole body was quivering with rage. Aegis hurriedly tried to slosh over. "Kivan!"

The wild elf seemed to finally take note that Aegis was calling for him, because his head perked up at the sound of her voice. Still breathing heavily past moisture, he turned to try and catch sight of their leader. The person he saw first was Viconia. His teeth grit together.

The drow _screamed_. She didn't scream a word; she just belted out an inarticulate sound of _rage_ at him and threw out her arms as if inviting another attack.

The wild elf stared at her. Dynaheir took in a slow, relieved breath.

Viconia stomped a foot closer to him, and she _screamed _again, her face flushed with anger and frustration.

"Viconia!" Aegis shouted, reaching the drow's side and grabbing her shoulder. "Back off! You're alright? Leave it!"

Viconia spat. "Oh! Oh I'll _leave_ it!" she shrieked. "I should have _left _it!" Aegis was confused what she meant, but the drow quickly sloshed to the side of the pool a good yard away from Kivan and floundered out over the edge. She grabbed at her hair with fingers like claws, as if she could barely contain herself. Then with another angry sound, she stalked away from the pool and tried to get far away from anyone who might speak to her.

Xzar and Pretzels both swiveled their heads to follow her as they passed. Ajantis gaped. Shar-Teel pulled her pillow over her head and shouted something muffled about 'trying to sleep!' The three or four acolytes in the chamber looked somewhat violated.

Aegis stumbled up to Kivan and hooked an arm around his waist that she might pull him out of the water. Khalid helped her, and then Kivan slumped to the ground at the fountain's side as he tried to catch his breath.

When they were all out of the fountain, and Ajantis and Kivan were no longer hacking up fluid, Aegis abruptly broke out laughing. It was a very inappropriate time to laugh; but then Aegis was starting to build up a repertoire for laughing at such times. Again. Kivan peeled open his eyes to look at her, and she saw he had quite the lovely purple bruise forming over one. She smiled down at the Wild Elf, and then crouched down close to him.

"Good Morning, Kivan," was what she said. Exhaustion was settling back into all of them.

He didn't say anything for a moment, his chest still rising and falling heavily. Then an equally inappropriate smirk slipped over his face, and he closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the fountain. Somehow, Aegis being present helped keep back the deluge of agonizing thoughts. "Where are we?" he rasped weakly.

"The Song of the Morning, in Beregost," she told him as an acolyte hurried up and offered healing to Ajantis.

"H-how did I get here?"

"Ae-aegis carried you the w-whole way," Khalid informed him. As Aegis suspected, he did not at all mind that she'd nicked his clothing.

Kivan's memories slipped back together. He lifted his head a little and peered at them. "Branwen?" He was a little afraid.

"Branwen and Xan were both alright last time I checked," Aegis supplied. She glanced to the acolyte, who nodded.

That relieved him. He looked around to make sure everyone else was accounted for. His eyes widened. "Imoen?"

"She's safe, too," Aegis waved tiredly. "They're coming in behind us. Worked out anyway; we didn't have enough horses."

Kivan sagged his weight back into the fountain and nodded. "I... I left her side. I left her," he admitted in a guilty whisper.

"She's safe," Aegis repeated. "So are you, for that matter, although you just soaked everyone's only clean clothing. What happened?"

Kivan was quiet a moment, grimacing as if in pain. Then he shook his head and admitted in an uncharacteristically confused voice: "I don't know."

Aegis raised a brow but then yawned in exhaustion and straightened. Kivan wasn't hysterical; honestly, that was good enough for her. Some wordless understanding suggested he _wouldn't_ be jumping the drow on her return. "Well can... can someone go talk to Viconia to make sure-" she yawned again and rubbed her face, "-she's okay, then?"

Dynaheir nodded. "I will do this," she volunteered, and then when no one disagreed she hurried off after the drow. Aegis waved wordlessly at Minsc to suggest he should follow at a respectful distance; and he somehow managed to interpret the gesture correctly despite extensive exhaustion and without referencing a hamster, which was fairly impressive. He hopped off after the two women.

"You okay, Ajantis?" she asked of the squire, who had just finished paying the acolyte both for services rendered and a bit extra for the disturbance. "You went down pretty hard." She didn't mention the religious stuff Kivan had shouted at him.

Ajantis placed a hand on his hip and ran another through his hair, turning quite a bit of thought towards the question. Then he lifted his head and gave Aegis a tolerant and even slightly amused expression.

"I am starting to wonder if they hit me because they know I can take it," he drawled with surprisingly good humor. "And through doing so, redirect energy that would be disastrous elsewhere. Well, much as I shall endeavor _not_ to martyr myself to their immature outbursts in the future, I am actually fine. I'll speak with Viconia when she's calmer."

Kivan glanced at the knight, but said nothing. Aegis just nodded and decided that, when she had more brainpower, she'd give some thought on how to better help or accommodate the knight-squire. He'd turned out to be a surprisingly robust party mainstay for a holy man sandwiched between two homicidal and emotionally unstable women. "The hells_ time_ is it?" she asked after a moment, offering an arm down to Kivan. They grasped each other at the forearm, and she hauled him to his feet.

"I'd wager about four in the afternoon," Xzar decided, hopping up to where they were assembled. "We may wish to head into Beregost before it gets dark." Then he looked at Kivan. "As for you, I must ask that you please refrain from kissing my girlfriend at any and all available points in the future. Elf or not, it leaves me _incredibly _confused."

The wild elf blinked in surprise. Then a purplish color rose up in his cheeks, and his eyes widened slightly.

"Well you can kiss her on the forehead," Xzar thought after a moment. "That's cute, I suppose. Or the cheek, that's fine too." His eyes sharpened. "But nowhere else! All those other places are mine! Mine, do you hear!? Mine! Yes. Hmph. Ahem. Well." He sniffed and waved a hand. "Do we have an understanding, then?"

Kivan grunted an affirmative.

...

* * *

The Jovial Juggler had become the party's inn; and while an argument could be made that it might be prudent to turn in at Feldepost's or the Burning Wizard while the party was so beaten up and a bandit camp had just been burned, Aegis wanted to get the news to Officer Vai of the Flaming Fist. No one wanted to blunder about between multiple inns with night coming at such an exhausting time.

Aegis stood in front of Vai for several moments, blinking. Vai looked at her expectantly. "Hold on. Words will come to me, I'm sure they will," Aegis assured her.

"We burned the bandit camp," Xzar supplied helpfully, his eyes half-lidded.

"Tazok's dead," Kivan agreed, weaving slightly. His energy from earlier had dissipated, and he looked ready to pass out again. Vai looked to them both sharply, and then back up at Aegis.

"Right! That!" Aegis agreed. "We found the bandit camp and razed it. Tazok the half-ogre is dead, Khosann the Black Talon leader is dead, and we drove off the Chill leader."

Vai's eyes widened appreciatively.

"He left on a dimensional rift riding a giant flaming hell horse," Aegis recalled. "But he said something about not being paid enough, shouted 'retreat,' and then there weren't many bandits left standing at that point anyway. Right?"

"Yeah. I'm covered in the rest of them," Shar-Teel croaked from nearby, shuffling up beside her leader. The fightress was in a state of incredible dishevelment; limed in blood and gore and with her hair tousled up like a hag's mane. She looked miserable, or as if she was suffering from an incredibly painful hangover, but what she said was: "Fucking great night."

Ajantis came up behind them. "Officer, Aegis, I'd be happy to conduct the debriefing over a cup of coffee in a minute." Then he looked to Shar-Teel, and produced a key he'd just retrieved from the innkeeper. "But first, I want to make sure she doesn't pass out on the stairs." The fightress muttered something inarticulate and rude, and didn't protest as the paladin took her shoulder and made to steer her shuffling up to her room.

"My appreciation for paladins has been going up lately," Aegis decided, trying to figure out how Ajantis managed to remain good-looking and put-together when all the rest of them looked like disasters. Then she remembered that Ajantis hadn't been doing stupid things like charging into enemy lines screaming he was death come for them with two bodkins lodged in his lungs.

"I-I- w-will h-help d-debrief h-her, Aegis," Khalid offered, already looking alert even after such a short rest. "B-but I will w-wait for Sir Ilvarstarr for, eh, o-obvious r-reasons. K-kivan, you look exhausted. W-would you like to share acc-comodations?"

The wild elf looked briefly at Aegis, and then grunted and let the half-elf tug him off. Khalid was supportive and said very little; he could tell Kivan was barely holding himself together.

"I love everyone," Aegis decided with a happy sigh, as somehow her job had just covered itself.

"Delegation!" Xzar giggled, taking her hand and tugging her gently along.

Vai watched them leave, still silent, an incredulous expression pasted immobile upon her face.

"Did they just say they broke up the bandits?" someone exclaimed, stumbling out of their chair.

...

* * *

The tavern was in an excited uproar by the time Minsc, Dynaheir, and Viconia reached it. This was fortunate, as Viconia had no illusions cast upon her and was reliant entirely on her yellow hood to keep her safe. Ajantis and Khalid had finished delivering their rendition of events, and Ajantis excused himself to join the drow. He reached out and touched her arm but Viconia, surprisingly, recoiled from him. "Don't touch me," she snapped. "Just show me where Shar-Teel's rooming, male, and leave me be!"

Ajantis straightened, confused. Had Viconia not screamed for his help when Kivan was attempting to gouge her eye out? And had he not helped her? What was the reason for this cold shoulder? Did she feel guilty for striking him? _That_ seemed unlikely. Was she angry he'd attempted to drag her off of Kivan? That also didn't seem to make any sense.

Well, perhaps he would let her get a solid night of rest and, if the problem still persisted, he might ask Dynaheir for advice. Shar-Teel and Viconia were natural roommates anyway, especially when too exhausted to cause trouble. "Very well," he submitted, and gestured that she should lead the way upstairs. Viconia scowled, tugging her hood down farther and then pushing her way through the crowd. Ajantis pursued.

Once upon a time, he had tried to float the argument that it was inappropriate for non-married persons of opposite genders to share rooms with one another. He'd been completely ignored, much to his chagrin. But months later, he had come to understand his fellows' reasoning: Adventuring was stressful and emotionally draining work. Who slept next to who wasn't quite as important as making sure everyone slept soundly and felt safe.

As they reached the top of the staircase, Ajantis wasn't entirely certain how he felt about losing his volatile roommate. He gave her the second key to Shar-Teel's room, and gestured to the correct number. Viconia entered. Before she could shut the door, he stepped into the threshold and held it open with his foot.

"Viconia?"

"_What_!?" she hissed, tearing her cloak from her shoulders and throwing it over the empty cot's headboard and sloughing off her pack. "I am exhausted, fool! Leave me to sleep!"

"I wanted to ask if you knew what a Kissmoot was," he told her.

"A what!?" she snapped, grabbing hold of her tunic and hauling it off viciously, hoping to drive him from the room with the threat of nakedness. Ajantis just looked politely down and away from her.

"The Kiss of the Lady," he clarified. "It's a ceremony. Have you ever heard of it?"

"What are you babbling about!? No! Now leave me alone!"

A smile rose to glow over his face then, and it was as if a hundred pounds had been lifted from his shoulders. "I didn't think so," he said quietly. "Sleep well, Viconia."

...

* * *

She came in quietly, and tried to make no sound; but he was awake on his cot. He had decided to pray before bed, and she'd chosen to enter only a minute after he'd finished. He listened as she made her way over to the bed, and to the sounds of her cloak and pack reaching the floor. The mattress rustled as she sat down on the bed.

She climbed in under the blankets, and tried to make herself comfortable.

Ajantis smiled to himself, and tried to sleep.

Her voice came across quietly; as if testing to see if he was awake: "Ajantis, what is a Kissmoot?"

He collected his thoughts. _Be careful. Don't belittle her. _"The stuff of nightmares. With gory details grizzled old men tell to young folk to scare the wits out of them on long autumn nights."

She shifted and huffed slightly. "Why did you ask me about them?"

"Kissmotes are rare and infamous ceremonies conducted by forces of evil and chaos. Nights of slaughter and acts of gross spiritual perversion."

"And?"

"They are _Sharite_ ceremonies."

Dead silence stretched between them.

"I realized you had come into your faith alone, and so I thought maybe-"

"-and you thought _what_? Do you suppose me soft and gentle because I do not know about these surfacer rituals? You are going to be very sorely disappointed, jaluk. I am just as ruthless as any-"

"-as Lolth?" he pressed.

"You know nothing. _Nothing_. Do not speak of Lolth when all you have ever heard is stories."

"Viconia, I just-"

"You _what_? You wish to hope I am not truly 'that bad,' is that it?"

He frowned. "I do not think you _are,_" he pointed out. "I have seen you tend to those who are wounded, and-"

"You stupid, stupid boy," she accused, her voice dropping into a full, low, and vicious tone that he had never before heard from her. "You want to hear of slaughter, boy?

"Let me tell you of slaughter! I have murdered countless of my own people, from ruthless matrons to quavering children; all in the name of power and glory. I have been to the surface and raided your world beneath black moons, and crushed the bodies of the elderly and the weak, and dragged those valuable as slaves back to the underdark in chains. I have tortured men to the brink of madness or else to sadism; I have fed them screaming to spiders and goblins; I have ravaged their bodies with poisons and screamed out the name of my goddess as I finally delivered their souls unto the abyss."

Ajanatis rolled over, sitting up slightly and staring at his roommate with wide eyes. She was turned away from him.

"You want to hear of spiritual perversion?" she spat. "When I ascended to the role of one of Lolth's High Priestesses, I stood nude before an enclave my sisters and their favorite and most attractive male prisoners. I summoned into our chambers a great and powerful yugoloth from the depths of the demonweb pits. And as incense rolled over the chamber, and my sisters sunk to the pillows in a great and bloody orgy, I copulated with the yugoloth at the head of the ceremony, and I screamed in lust and joy and agony for the love of my goddess."

The man gaped at her, his face drained of all color, his expression utterly slack.

"Do you not realize how _old_ I am!? Do you not realize what I have done with my life, or what being drow means!? Speak not of _Lolth _to me, paladin! Ask me not of Sharran rites and presume my naivety makes me innocent! You know nothing- you are a silly, innocent boy scarcely out from behind your mentor's shield! You are no true knight; merely a lowly squire; and you know _nothing_ of the world or its cruelties. You know _nothing_ of evil!

_"_You. Know._ Nothing_!"


	3. Nuanced Memories

_**Nuanced Memories**_

_..._

* * *

_Once the excitement of the murder had died down, and the correctly framed persons had been charged, Tallix was delighted to notice neither Harper was quite as dim as she __might have expected. They knew something was amiss, and they kept poking around in quite a number of very astute places. _

_It was flattering as it might have been to have one's art studied by knowledgeable eyes; and fascinating to see what details were spotted and which others were missed. She loitered to enjoy the damning praise; though at present they were doing little more than shopping. _

_"They're good," the halfling acknowledged to herself, hunkering down over a steaming bowl of rice and kicking her feed idly off the edge of the sandstone wall. "Not Ri's level, but good." Her professionalism wasn't about to let her drop them a clue on who had ordered the hit; no, that would have been sloppy. But few men had but one sin to their name, and Tallix was hardly bound to defend any others! Maybe an old ledger here or a planted trinket there might lead them to who they were looking for._

_That could be fun._

_But then of course both of them were in over their heads; and if they were too silly to seek out help over their clues, Tallix might find herself forced to bail them out. And that, well, that would be very damaging to her marketing posture! If she got caught. She'd been _wanting_ to try out a new modus operandi; It _might_ be fun... But... No, no, no, she had plans yet for the duo, and that meant eventually getting off her ass and putting play time behind her-_

_Tallix's gazed snapped to the sight of a plain and unassuming man who was wandering through the market place. His eyes were brown and his hair was a dark and lifeless blonde. Now and then he looked across the crowd as if lost. Now and then, his gaze moved over the two Harpers without so much as pausing. Tallix had seen him a few days before then in the tavern; only then he hadn't been wearing the same face. _

_The halfling considered this latest development over a forkful of rice. She arranged the facts, geography, and layout in her head, and evaluated the sum. "Hnh. Yet another half-eaten lunch," she muttered, eyeing her bowl mournfully. "G__otta stop doin' this; s'bad for me figure." Then with a shrug, __she pushed herself off the edge and dropped quietly down the wall. It was forty feet to the bottom. A bum looked up at her, and she handed him her remaining rice. He asked Yondalla to bless her. _

_Tallix had two Harper kids to drive north, and she probably only had a few hours to do it. Two days was a wee-bit long to leave a Zhent to check all his bases. And on a completely unrelated note: it wasn't good manners to intrude on guild turf, steal a big slice of cake, and then loiter about as if she owned the place. The Harpers weren't the only ones who ought to get their arses out of Calimport._

_As she headed off into the market, a flurry of squeaking noises drew her attention. "Goods fresh from Halruaa!" A monger shouted, attempting to lure rich tourists into his antiques shop jammed with fake jades, cheap woodcuts, and glamoured electrum."Friend, friend, you should buy your daughter a pet! Straight from the land of wizards!"_

_Sitting out in the hot sun, was a wire metal cage. Within had flopped a sickly looking mama possum, curled up about her itty bitty kit. _

_Tallix blinked. Her spleen did a little jig within her tummy. She tilted her head to the side, and then flit over to investigate. _

_The little kit was furless, and so small that Tallix couldn't have even said it looked like a sausage. It was more like a wiggly, pink jellybean poking halfways out of her pouch, with its unprotected skin all burnt something awful from sitting in the Calimshan sun._

_Bingo._

...

* * *

_"We should think of heading north again," Khalid suggested quietly. _

_Jaheira scoffed. "There are still a few leads we might pursue," she disagreed._

_The man looked knowingly up at his wife. "There may be no second mystery to uncover," he reminded her. _

_"Oh come off it, Khalid; you know something's suspicious the same as I. Why-"_

_Jaheira paused abruptly. Her eyes darted to something- to the sight of a young lad carrying a sugar glider wrapped up in soft linens over to the table beside them. The boy sat alone in his chair and quickly began to survey the miserable looking little possum, feeling over her shriveled wings and poked worriedly about at her kit._

_The druid's lips parted, her brows bunching up together in surprise. Then, with a mumbled, 'Oh,' she stood up and walked over to the boy._

_He was defensive to see her approach at first, his eyes widening and his arms closing protectively around his tiny bundle. But Jaheira introduced herself as a druid, and asked to see the little lives he'd entrusted himself with. It took a few moments of calm reassurances, but the boy slowly eased up and shuffled forward to show her the sugar glider._

_Jaheira ended up talking to the boy for well over thirty minutes as she tended to his injured sugar gliders and taught him what the mama possum needed to eat. She made several offers to purchase the creatures, but the boy stubbornly insisted they were his. He took them back with promises to take good care of them, and then rushed off to disappear again after the encounter._

_Depressed, Jaheira slunk back into the booth alongside Khalid. She didn't say anything but, when she picked up her fork, it wasn't to eat with. She stirred her food about her plate as if greatly distracted by something._

_"Maybe Khelben's had news?" Khalid suggested hopefully, but they both knew Gorion was most probably dead. _

_Jaheira did not say anything for the longest moment. Then she straightened her shoulders and took in a deep breath to steady herself. "Maybe we should head north," she suggested quietly. _

_..._

* * *

_Tallix ruffled the boy's hair and paid him his price with a hefty bag of coppers, if only so that they'd be easier to spend. "That was stellar. Should consider being a bard with talent like that," she told him. He scoffed._

_"No money in that," he disagreed._

_"Always money in doin' what ye love, kid," she chortled, taking back her new sugar gliders and scratching mama's head. He stuck out his tongue. She laughed. "You got a name?"_

_"Gaelan," he told her._

_"Well Gaelan, I want to have a word with ye 'bout where I found ye this morning: Don't run Dust for that bastard. This city's eaten a thousand kids like you 'cross the years, and'll eat a thousand long after yer bones and dirt."_

_"Pays well," he pouted. "Shows what you know!"_

_"Lad, dinnae be daft," __she countered flatly.__ "Don't run Dust. Run Lotus. No one's ever hung for Lotus." _

_He blinked and considered this this for a moment, and then he counted his money and hurried off._

_"Youngins," she sighed unhappily. She patted for her pipe. "Eighty-_six_, and they say I know nothin,' oi." She drew out the pipe and then paused, looking at the tiny sugar glider and her jelly-bean baby. She looked at the pipe. And then at the glider. "Alright, _you,_ I clearly gotta dump somewhere." She tucked the pipe away. _

_The sugar glider pooped on her._

_Tallix shrugged, unoffended. __"Look, I ain't insensitive enough to give ye ta the frosty stork. Mebbe Anaxa might could use a pet? Hmm..."_

_A shadow passed overhead, and by the fact that she'd witnessed it, Tallix wagered she wasn't about to get jumped. She leaned her head back, and looked up to see a Calishite man crouched on the edge of the tavern, peering coldly albeit curiously down at her. _

_He was dressed in dun colored leathers and an unremarkable brown cloak so as not to stand out in the daylight hours, and his hood was pulled down such that all could be seen of his face was a thin and disapproving mouth framed by an immaculately maintained black goatee. _

_"Speakin' o youngins: look at _you_!" she chuckled wonderously. "All grown up and handsome! Wager ye'd be about twenty-one this year?"_

_The disapproving look worsened. He was trying to figure out who she was. Tallix winked. There were a _few_ fun advantages to being eighty-six, and damn her but she was going to enjoy them. The Calimshite man was not amused, however; he whirled about and disappeared over the opposite side of the tavern._

_Well, if that wasn't a hint to get out of town by nightfall, Tallix didn't know what was._

_..._

* * *

Ajantis had needed to get out of the room.

He quickly snatched up his armor, and then made his way out of the tavern in the hopes of reaching Thunderhammer Smithy before it closed for the evening. He was in luck. Although it was late in the work day, the smithy's forges were still burning hot and Taerom Fuiruim's apprentices were glad to take his plate and shield in for repairs. With this done, he'd gone and sat himself down on the rear porch of the tavern, unsheathed his sword from its scabbard, produced his oilstone and oil, and shakily set to sharpening the blade.

Down. Down. Wet, sandy grind after grind; scrape after scrape.

_She did that on purpose. _

That was his first lucid thought; and as it came to him, he took in a deep and steadying breath through his nose. As if that thought's formulation had lifted a crippling vice from his body, he found himself leaning backwards to stretch out his spine and shoulders. His arms were shaking less.

_But why? __It was not blind malice._

His brows came thoughtfully together. After a moment he looked back to his sword, and an unhappy sigh escaped from his lips.

_Do I let her manipulate me? The only reason I did not protest the use of necromancy at the bandit camp more heavily was because of her arguments. "These corpses belonged to the murdered travelers whom the bandits have preyed upon," she told me. "Do you think that if they were asked to lend their bones in seeking justice on their murderers, that they would even deny us?" And I accepted that. I, a paladin, permitted the utilization of undead. _

He closed his eyes and leaned his temple against the sword pommel, his face a mask of frustration.

_Will my faith in her drive me off a cliff? Will I rationalize and rationalize and rationalize until I've lost all sense of my Lord's scriptures?_

That was not the only thing on his mind. Viconia's words had shaken Ajantis to his bones, and he felt them churning over and over again within his belly. He wanted to be glad she had not gone into further detail, but what she had left unsaid was almost _worse _because it invited the use of his imagination.

The paladin groaned, covering his face and threading his fingers back through his hair.

_She... such atrocities... such thick and pervasive evil... To speak of such things so openly, so callously; to use the word 'love!' Did... did she truly participate in that black ceremony, or was that an embellishment to push home her point? If she did- and if she brought death and suffering onto so many- how can I possibly hold out hope that she is anything other than-_

But then, that ceremony had been in Lolth's honor. And the Viconia whom Ajantis knew was _not_ a disciple of Lolth.

_How is Shar any better?_ The paladin wondered, bowing his head in disappointment and pain._ I ignored the name of her patron for so long now, but Kivan is right. Regardless of whom she worships, her goddess is still a sower of chaos and doubt, who demands bloody sacrifices and spiraling lies from all of her believers. Associating with Viconia longer than absolutely necessary will be a very fast means of blaspheming my god. _

Ajantis thought of the fight at the fountain. No doubt Kivan still believed Viconia's patron to be Lolth, but did it truly matter either way? The elf's words, _'Do you want to fall?' _echoed in his mind.

Abruptly, then the young paladin's eyes flicked open, and his pupils contracting sharply in renewed focus.

"That was it," he breathed in realization. He'd realized that Viconia had hit him soon after Kivan's words, but previously he'd presumed it was because he'd faltered in her defense. "But it's just the opposite!" he exclaimed in alarm, sitting up straight again. "She struck out _because_ I was defending her; not in spite of it!"

Ajantis had brushed off Kivan's words; but _Viconia_ had not!

_She slung that history at me to push me out to arm's length, and to thicken my skin. She intentionally attempted to sour my opinion of her? Why? I am her most frequent protector; it does not make sense to alienate me even if her intentions are black!_

...

* * *

When Ajantis re-entered the tavern room, he leaned against the frame of the threshold for a moment, confused.

Viconia had switched cots.

It was obvious her position _meant_ something significant, but for the life of him he could not figure out what it was. After a moment, he stepped in and closed the door behind him. He went to where she was sprawled unconscious in his blankets, with her face buried in his pillow. Ajantis liked his pillow. He had a tendency to use it even when not camping. She had pulled his cloak down from over the headboard, and it was currently covering half of her.

A cynical voice rose up in him, and recalled that Shar's clerics were masters of manipulation. But a saner voice countered it: If Viconia had ever intended for him to see this, she would not have still been wearing her underclothing. She would have aimed for _lust_, not pity.

For all that Viconia enjoyed playing verbal games with people (and she did), Ajantis had noticed she liked to pry at their vices and primal fears instead of their virtues. Her attempts always came off as snake-like and heavy-handed and, though her objectives might not always be clear, he thought it was safe to say she was very obviously a proud woman.

Truly, Ajantis doubted Viconia understood the gentler subtleties of human emotions. He doubted she would have any accurate idea of what the sight of her there in his bed made him feel. _He_ barely knew what seeing her there made him feel.

He came to the conclusion that Viconia had never for one instant believed he'd come back to the room to sleep there; She would never have risked giving him so much genuine information for so little gain.

Ajantis stood there for a long moment. Then, with a slow shake of his head, he eased himself to the ground and sat leaning up against the cot. He settled his sheathed longsword slowly off to the side, and then draped his forearms across his knees. A bit of her chaotic hair was right beside his shoulder, and it tickled his cheek. He frowned, still upset and still confused; and for awhile he just sat there and listened to her breathe.

"You were trying to protect me, m'lady scorpion," he admitted the realization quietly. "But at what cost?" Viconia didn't stir.

He let out a heavy breath and then closed his eyes. He didn't know _what_ he was going to do. There was a voice within him that beseeched him to pick up the sword and pinion her to the bed; and the impulse frightened him because it was not only grotesquely unknightly but most certainly _evil_.

Ought he return to Amn now that his mission was complete? Should he inform Vai of the drow's identity, and let the Western Heartland's law enforcement carry out its job to whatever conclusion it determined was necessary? He thought of Kagain's fate; he thought of the stocks in Amn, and the hangman's noose.

He lifted a hand, and brushed his fingertips and knuckles against the wisp of white hair beside his face. He thought of the time she'd asked Shar-Teel to marry him. He thought of a hundred unremarkable and tiny moments one inevitably experienced when sharing rooms and watch duty with another person.

...

* * *

As Xan slowly breached the surface of consciousness, his memories shifted rapidly towards the present. The sense of a living person nearby was initially terrifying, but then comforting. He felt as if he'd slept for years.

_Branwen... _

His eyes flashed open.

_Branwen!_

Xan snapped to a sitting position, and his stomach was in his throat as he twisted about to survey his location. Branwen was just beside him, and though her bandages were as widespread as ever, she was most certainly greatly improved. Xan heaved out a shuddering groan of relief. When had he fallen asleep? How had he ended up on the bed beside her? It was not a large bed!

But then Branwen did not look uncomfortable...

He had only been sitting upright for a second when her face crinkled in displeasure, however. Before he could try and reassure her, she opened her eyes and looked blearily up at him.

"Oh... oh..." he murmured, rolling his knees under himself and shuffling close that he might touch her cheek. "Go back to sleep, Nildoen'nin, I am sorry for waking you..."

Branwen smiled, showing off teeth. "You're awake," she noted happily.

Xan blinked. "Er... I-_I'm _awake?" he emphasized, confused.

"Aye, glad to see it I am," she agreed.

Xan's brow raised and he sputtered: "B-by far the more miraculous thing is that _you_ are!"

"Eh? Otch, I'm fiinneee," she drawled laughingly.

"You... you... _You_ are not 'fine'!" he disagreed in one of his most dramatic voices, his hands gesticulating frantically. "You were_ run over_ by a charging_ Nightmare_!" His voice peaked at nearly hysterical pitches on 'Nightmare'. "You should be _dead_!"

"Oh it's not so exciting as all that anymore. I done had a nice good sleep to up and fix that now didn't I?" she teased.

Xan flat-out gaped at her, his hands caught mid-gesticulation. His left cheek twitched slightly.

"How are you feeling, wee man? You were out... well, I suppose by now it was nearly a good twenty-odd hours?"

He tried to explain why this conversation did not make any sense: "You. Nearly. _Died_." Each syllable was delivered with such extraordinary weight and gravity that Branwen felt they could sink a cargo freighter. His fingers were curled up before him in desperate entreaty.

Branwen winked at him, and then covered her mouth partially as she yawned. "Aye, and now I'm feeling a mite peckish. I don't suppose you might be able to find us a wee bite to eat?" she asked hopefully.

Xan continued to stare at her for a very long moment. Then, with a muttered oath to the Seldarine, he rose up on his knees and leaned over her, placing a hand on the pillow past each of her shoulders

Branwen watched his face in surprise. Then he dropped his head, and the kiss which claimed her mouth was almost _angry_ it was so demanding. Butterflies rippled through her body, and she raised her hands to his sides as his intensity pressed her head back and his tongue slid into some very exciting places.

That Xan could be forceful was an entirely new concept for her. Her fingers clung to his ribs and shoulders. Then she got a hand up behind his head so she could hold the kiss in place and thumb over the edge of his ear. He trembled slightly in response to her rough gropes, but he did not falter. The only shame about the situation was he seemed to think his laughable weight might kill her if he dared to placed it on her.

When he finally did pull back- and when she finally _let_ him- he leaned back slightly on his knees with his hands still planted over each shoulder, and he watched her face. She panted heavily, and did likewise.

Features which had seemed weak, unattractive and girlish to her once now were sharply masculine and _boldly _handsome. He was slight, yes, but it _suited_ him.

He sucked in a deep breath and then nodded, looking about the room for the door. His next words were in a remarkably heroic-sounding deadpan: "I shall return swiftly, and with pork."

...

* * *

Edwin was jolted awake by someone toeing him in the ribs. He lifted his head up from where it had been nestled winced and growled out something angry but likely inarticulate.

"Get up; we have a situ-"

As he blinked past sleep and rolled partially onto his back, he looked up to see Jaheira standing over him. It was barely dawn. He grimaced. "What do _you_ want?" he complained, pushing back blankets. They had agreed to rest until just before _noon; _this was unacceptably early!

Jaheira raised both of her brows but did not immediately answer, and her glance shifted rapidly between him and to his side.

Edwin had been propping himself up, but he saw her expression and tensed. Abruptly it occurred to him that his sleeping blankets were _not_ his. He turned his head to look down at the girl he'd been wrapped about, and at where one of his arms was still trapped beneath her waist. Then he looked back up at Jaheira. Vaguely, he recalled having made the decision to crawl into such a location... it had doubtless appeared significantly less stupid to him at around two in the morning.

And after he'd been so _lucky_ to have woken up first the day before.

The druid spoke slowly and enunciated her words: "Edwin, am I looking at what it... _seems_ I am looking at?"

"Most probably not," Edwin admitted, temporarily subdued.

"Because it _seems_ as if I am watching a two-timing, chauvinistic, Thayvian _coward_ grinding morning wood into my niece's hindquarters," she continued with very intentionally fake calm.

"Eh, no. No I am not. Many things are wrong with this situation, but I can assure you that is not one of them," he dismissed, pulling himself free of his bedmate. "(As if any man's erection, sexual or otherwise, could survive the sight of _this_ harpy's face) Now, why the hells did you wake me?"

"You must be related to the common pinata, Edwin," Jaheira remarked with bitter venom. "And believe you me: this topic is not dropped. But we have more immediate concerns than Imoen's poor taste in men." She turned and began striding away. "Wake her! I've found people."

"Poor taste in-! I have_ absolutely_ never joined in any form of_ coitus_ with my own-!" Edwin shouted after her in protest, and then he winced because the truth was stupider than the mistake was damning; and he wasn't sure he wanted to explain something he didn't even want to think about. Besides, it seemed inevitable that everyone and their grandmother were all going to jump to the same erroneous conclusion; why not just go along with it? Fewer headaches. Irritated, he reached down and gave a sharp tug on a curl of Imoen's hair.

She snorted in air and mumbled out something like: "Whabahawithmm?"

"Get up, Kwefai," he sighed, rubbing sleep from his face, "the druid is crowing about something."

"Mnphbnn?" she asked unhappily.

"Yes, now," he grumbled.

"Unnghmph..."

_..._

* * *

"Holy crap!" Imoen exclaimed loudly, startling all twenty-two of the bedraggled and miserable looking persons in the clearing. Some of them gave small cries of alarm, while others hushed them.

Jaheira shot her a reproachful look that didn't seem to have anything to do with the volume of her voice, and then she quickly slid down the ridge and strode up to where several of the people were stepping forward with spears or swords. They looked more frightened than outright hostile.

"Woops. Wow. Where did they come from?" Imoen wondered aloud in a whisper.

"They are slaves," Edwin told her.

Imoen's face lit up in recognition. "You said something about Tazok looking over a 'slave shipment'! I totally forgot!"

He nodded, tucking his hands into his sleeves as he crossed his arms; it was bloody chilly out. "They must have escaped and fled the camp during the fighting; and so the rest of the party never found them either."

"Oh you're right! Oof, I think I see a bunch of manacles still... Poor buggers!"

"Well this is a fine delay," he muttered irritably. "I presume I am about to watch you and Jaheira mother each and every one of them, and then volunteer to ferry them safely back to The Song of the Morning with no promise of reward and despite the army of scattered bandits that could be roaming the forests at this very moment?"

"Only with the help of the powerful and dangerous Edwin Odesseiron, mighty wizard and one of the renown Heros of Nashkel and Baldur's Gate!"

"Are you sure she put me back together correctly; because I think I am going to be violently ill all over you." His voice was monotone.

"Think of it like this: It'll look good on your resume," she suggested with a sly smile. She had an inkling Edwin wasn't about to put up a real fight. He seemed a little subdued.

Edwin eyed her irritably, but then sniffed. "Ask nothing of me that does not require _fire."_

She pursed her lips mischievously as she drew out her lock picks. "So... Does that mean you will-"

"No, I will _not_ cook that massive turkey you have hidden in your bag of holding for them. Nor any of your other foodstuffs, for that matter."

Imoen planted her hands on her hips, thumbing back her hood that she might get a better look at him. "Okay, howja do that?" she asked, impressed. "I mean the turkey would take too long to cook but _still_-!"

"The Kwefai forgets I _know_ her," he muttered irritably. "Hnh. The druid is waving us down to her."

_..._

* * *

When Aegis woke up, it was with a wince. She could still see strange and horrible shapes moving at the edges of her vision, and the nightmare was blazing hot in her skull.

_YOU WILL LEARN!_

_Damn straight, I'll learn. I'm an Oghmite. _Aegis heaved a great yawn, and then glanced up at Pretzels, who was walking all over top of her. She winced as the cat unintentionally pulled her hair. Then she smiled and looked down to the necromancer who was huddled up against her chest and partially crushed beneath her shoulder. All that could be seen of his face was tousled hair and the harlequin grin.

She contemplated him for a moment, lifting up a hand to stroke along his back. His spine was bony, and her fingers counted gently down the vertebrae. Smiling, she grasped a bunch of his hair with the arm she'd tucked into a pillow, and then lowered her chin and kissed him adoringly on the crown of the head. Her other hand continued to trace languidly up and down his spine.

A few moments later, Xzar woke up with a shudder. He took in a deep breath, and his fingers drifted gently along her waist. Then he lifted his head, and green eyes focused upon her face.

"Morning, death wizard," she greeted him. "Sometimes I wondered how you manage to _breathe_ in some of the locations you pick to fall asleep in."

"It's not so hard," he assured her. "Lungs do not have to expand fully in order to function; and then your mammaries are not so uncomfortable as you seem to imagine."

That got a laugh out of her. "Well it's good to know they have some function," she decided.

"Technically speaking, my sources say they are for feeding offspring," the necromancer confided in her.

"Oh is that so?" she teased, but then her face got a far-off look. "Something else normal I don't get to have."

Xzar perked up, his eyes widening in alarm. "The Little Death finds herself wanting children?" he wondered.

"At thirty or thirty-five? Would have been nice."

"Oh dear," Xzar murmured, because there was a problem with this and they both knew it.

Aegis shrugged as if it meant nothing to her.

He looked down over his shoulder and past hers, and his fingers traced slowly over her lower abdomen. His fingers depressed gently over the ovary. Both existed; he was sure of that, at least. "Oh dear, oh dear. You know, this topic has come up recently in another form: Jaheira was asking if I was on Cassil or any of the cheaper alternatives," Xzar told her.

"What did you say?"

"I believe in that particular instance, my mind went wandering and she gave up on her line of inquiry. Most likely, she presumes you use herbal draughts." He looked up at her. "You... you _may_ still be able to have children, Moraratuk."

"Look, I'm ecstatic that random drunken sex didn't accidentally result in me getting pregnant with someone who barely knew who he was at any given point in time," she preluded. "But I think by now we've collected enough data to conclude _one_ of us is sterile. And I'm the one who barely has a monthly bleed."

He licked his lips. "No... no. Listen to me, Moaratuk, listen... Many women of great athletic ability and physical strain can be observed to have very light menstruation."

"Only I barely _ever_ have had any. It's not something that just happened when I started taking arrows for wizards," she retorted. "You say I'm half human; well, what do you get when you cross a horse and a donkey?"

"Well... that's not exactly a fair comparison; half-elves are fertile; half-dragons are fertile; and you were conceived by a _god_, so details like that tend not to-"

"A death god. Great. So apparently I'm not allowed to create life."

Xzar scowled. "Foolish; Leaf-Brained; Ridiculous; Death created life: you!" the necromancer chastised her sternly. "Wash your head of these inevitabilities! Wash it, I say! Why, I bet you don't know: they make potions for women with poor fertility. And I suspect that if you took such a draught, it will surmount whatever small deficiency you have been born with. I say you _will_ be able to have children, and that for now your low fertility is but an unexpected boon. And I'm the expert; so _there_."

Aegis wasn't so sure, but she took a moment to consider her lover's reassurances. Then she turned a sly expression onto him, and propped her head up on her hand. "Oh really?"

"Yes, really," he said warily, his eyes lowering to half mast. "And what is _that_ face for?"

"Well now I can't help but wonder: Would you like to have children?"

"What, just any children by any means? No. Clarify for this frazzled wizard: you are asking if I would be happy to assist_ you_ in _us_ having children in a distant and safer future?"

"Precisely."

"Hmm..." he mused deep in his chest. "It depends. Will they be strange half-ranger/half-necromancers that spit in the face of anything even remotely resembling sensible cosmic order, with strange tendencies to haul people off their feet like sacks of vegetables?" he asked suspiciously.

"Well they could be. Or they could all turn out blatantly cliche evil wizards and paladins, and leave us without a clue how to handle them," Aegis responded dryly.

"Tch! No: unacceptable. They may be paladins, or they may be evil wizards; but they absolutely may not be cliche. I forbid it," he told her sternly.

"Or we could end up having a dozen Harpers bards!" Aegis told him, waving a hand as if visualizing them or telling a horror story. "One right after the other! Blonde haired and green-eyed and _freckled_!"

"Hmph! Disappointing, but then there's no accounting for taste. Very well; but they are not to utilize the major key while within the domicile. Dirges only; that's my word on it."

"Except E major?"

"E major, E major, let's see... Perhaps on a trial basis initially; we shall simply have to conduct the experiment before I can give you a definitive answer."

"_Gods_, Fool wizard, I love you," she growled delightedly, rolling completely on top of him and then lifting her weight up on her hands and knees as she kissed him.

He chuckled into the kiss, his fingers caressing through her hair and down her neck, before smoothed and undulating down the length of her torso. He appraised and worshipped her every physical feature. "Ae," he murmured happily into her chin and then her throat. His arms twined around her neck and shoulders. "Ae... I _live_ while you are holding me...!"

_..._

* * *

[Author's Note]

There was going to be a cliffhanger of another section on the end but, meh, I think I like this chapter better without it. Too many things going on in it already.


	4. Complications

Nothing in this chapter will be quite so unexpected as Kivan actually have multiple dialog-rich sections...

Also, I can't believe it took me this long to figure out I should probably use single quotes for Tallix's thoughts when in flashbacks (where using italics to represent thoughts is therefore impossible)

For awhile it looks like these are Fabulous Old Evil Halfling Flashbacks instead of Foster Father XD

...

* * *

_**Complications**_

...

* * *

_"Are we headed to Waterdeep?" Khalid asked hopefully._

_Jaheira didn't answer at first. Then she sighed. "Why?"_

_Her husband frowned. "You don't think there's any hope?"_

_"Hope?" she muttered._

_"No one witnessed Gorion's death," he stressed. "His body was never found. Winthrop told us he thought-"'_

_"The devil do I carewhat that sour-faced ranger thought!?" she snapped. "It has been over a year! A year with no word; not even a hint, or clue!"_

_"He could easily have stumbled into trouble!" Khalid protested. "Even *now* he may need help-!"_

_"Then it is up to mages and clerics to supply that help as there is nothing whatsoever I can do!" she fumed. "Enough! Drop the topic, Khalid; I do not want to dwell on this!"_

_Her husband eyes her for a moment. Then he frowned unhappily and turned away from her. "Well, I am going to Waterdeep," he told her._

_Jaheira scowled. "We're headed east."_

_"You can head any direction you want," Khalid told her. "*I* am heading to Waterdeep."_

_Jaheira stiffened. She twisted about and looked to her husband. Khalid looked hurt, but he was staring firmly out at nothing. "What the devil are you talking about?" she groused._

_"I'm telling you that if you won't come to Waterdeep, then we will be splitting up for a short while," the fighter told her._

_"Khalid!" she exclaimed in disbelief, now even more angry and upset. _

_"__He was my friend too," her husband added in a rush. "Don't be so selfish."_

_Jaheira fell quiet. For a long moment, she could think of nothing to say._

_Khalid swallowed. "I know the last time we saw him, things were awkward and uncomfortable. But I still don't believe Gorion was well at the time. He wasn't ignoring us. He wasn't ignoring you. Something was *_wrong.*_ Even if he is dead, you can't just say you don't care about finding out what happened to him all because he gave you one cold shoulder."_

_ When she spoke, her voice cracked: "You would really leave me?"_

_Khalid held resolute. Then his shoulders slumped. "No," he admitted in a small voice. "But we need to go to Waterdeep, Jaheira. We need to keep going. To keep hoping. To keep listening. He would do the same for us."_

_Jaheira looked down at her gear. Then she slowly stood up and came over to where Khalid was sitting. She settled beside him, slipped an arm around his middle, and leaned her temple on his shoulder. Khalid looked to her hesitantly. Then he draped an arm about her shoulders, and combed through her hair. _

_"Gorion would be hard to kill," Khalid reminded her, and pressed a kiss to her brow._

_..._

* * *

_Sitting in the Tethyrian boughs above them, darning closed a hole in her spare shirt with a pair of sugar gliders curled up in her hood, Tallix smirked. _

_'Heh. You tell her, cutie. No way that Feathers is dead,' Tallix was pretty sure. 'And if he is, I'mma go find his afterlife and have some stern words with him about his poor sense of drama.'  
_

_As for where the mage had managed to disappear to, Tallix had absolutely no idea. He'd dropped off her grid entirely, and to be honest it had both worried and impressed Tallix Snapdragon. Disappearing from_ _her sights wasn't an easy feat for any man, and especially not one with feathered hair and a seriously deformed infant. But Gorion had done it- somehow- and she'd lost all track of him almost immediately after he'd left the Shadow Plane. _

_Finding him was going to take some cunning, but then that was what Jaheira and Khalid were for. Tallix couldn't waltz about tracking down and questioning all of Gorion's old friends as to his whereabouts. The Harpers could; and if Tallix had her way, they'd end up leading her straight to wherever the frosty stork was hiding. _

_If they thought Khelben Blackstaff Arunsun was their best starting point, then Tallix would take their word at it. _

_A sound reached Tallix's ears. She frowned, and started folding her laundry. She got a rude surprise when her interloper didn't circle about the perimeter like a proper shark, and instead waltzed straight towards the camp._

_"Excuse me?" a man with one-too-many-faces called to the harpers from a good fifty yards away. "Are... are you camping here?"_

_Tallix sneered, tossing her shirt over a branch and smoothing her palms over her bracers. 'Oh-ho, lad, you're gettin a wee bit bold with the wrong contract... And Old Auntie's a mite twitchy from lack o' leaf...'_

...

* * *

When the ranger was ready to head out and meet the day- and find out what the hells had happened to Imoen and Jaheira!- Aegis pulled on just her gambeson over her tunic, and belted the quilted fabric into place. Her armor would need some repair work, and she reason they might as well get it to the Thunderhammer Smithy. Children, of any sort, were no longer on her mind.

"I'm going to get some breakfast," she called back to the dazed and happy necromancer. "Want me to order your usual, or are you going to rest a few hours longer?"

Xzar only laughed, stretching himself out once and then curling up contentedly with her pillow.

Aegis winked back at him. She moved to open the door, and then blinked when something wedged between the door frame fell to the ground. She knelt, curious, to see what it was. It looked to just be a small square of black paper. Odd. She didn't think much out of it, and dropped it on the table beside the door for cleaners to find. Then she stood and headed out, calling to Pretzels as she went. The kitten bounded after her, glad to hear that someone was finally thinking about food.

Xzar waited until he heard her boots reach the bottom of the staircase far beyond. The inn was still comparatively quiet at this hour. Then he stood up and slowly walked over to the end table. He picked up the scrap of black vellum, holding it between the thumbs and forefingers and of both his hands.

The necromancer felt sick to his stomach, and had to to swallow several times before bile stopped trying to rise in his throat. He took in a slow breath, and then asked the blasphemy: "_Who is the One True God?_" in Thari.

And for an instant, a sun-shape stood out surreally against the black page like an optical illusion or trick of the eyes. A black sun: the holy symbol of Cyric.

He stared at the black fragment for a long moment. Then he turned, and walked over to where the bed he had just shared with his lover. He ruffled through the blankets, and found and extracted the Candlekeep cloak from under and around the pillows. He drew it up to his face, and breathed deep of her renewed scent. A tremor rippled through him.

"Byatskhan Moaratuk..." he whispered. Then he took in a deep, steadying breath and his voice evened out. "Forgive me."

...

* * *

Aegis did not find Ajantis on the ground floor, which was somewhat odd for the paladin; but then he had managed to stay awake and alert when everyone else was incapacitated, and perhaps he was sleeping that off.

It was still early in the morning, but the few people in the tavern looked to her with appreciation on their faces. She was confused for a moment. Then she remembered the bandit camp, and that clearing it hadn't just been her personal quest. She started smiling back.

Khalid and Kivan were awake already, and she came up to join them at their booth. The topic seemed to be war stories; the exciting sort, as opposed to the grim kind. Seeing anyone socialize with Kivan (or Khalid, for that matter) did Aegis' heart good.

"Good morning," she greeted as Khalid scooted over to make room for her. As she sat, she couldn't help but glance at how Kivan was eating. For a man whose forward knuckles ended in raw-looking grim nubs, he seemed to be having little difficulty feeding himself. With just a knife. It was still a little morbid-looking.

Kivan caught her glance and stabbed up a piece of ham just to alleviate her concerns. Aegis found his appetite reassuring. "Mellon'nin," he acknowledged quietly.

"G-good morning, Aegis," her uncle greeted warmly. "W-what a... a _fight_, eh?"

She nodded with a laugh, and forked food swiftly into her mouth. She was feeling as hungry as a Branwen. "How ya feeling, Kivan? Need anything?" she asked the elf. Abruptly she realized his hair was not only orderly but appeared to have a few thin braids in it. _The devil? _

Kivan considered the question. Then he bit into his ham and, while chewing, told her: "Armor, bow, cloak."

Thoughts of braids flew away in an instant! Aegis perked up, and then smiled radiantly. Kivan seemed to be okay. In fact, he did not look uncertain or unstable whatsoever. "You're staying with us, then?"

He stabbed up more meat and nodded. "Aye." It was an answer worth expending a syllable for.

"W-we shortly intended on visiting the temple," Khalid explained. "To inquire a-about the fingers and eh, well, to check on Xan and Branwen."

"I'll come," Aegis agreed, eating faster now so that they could get going. Then she looked up to see Xzar approaching them. The necromancer had a very quiet expression on his face, which seemed out of place. "Thought you were going to sleep?" she greeted as she finished swallowing a great number of grits.

"I changed my mind," he informed her. He looked at the table for a moment and then sat down beside Kivan, as that was the only seat available. "Has the Faewolf decided whether he'll be traveling with us or to Arvandor next? Because if it is the latter, I am happy to offer my expertise in getting him there!"

"People who should not be sitting together, chapter one," Aegis muttered dryly, and Kivan's eyes narrowed. Nevertheless the elf did answer: he gave a negative shake of his head.

"No? Well that's splendid; Ae was very worried about you, you know," he smiled toothily. "Ooh, I've been meaning to ask you something!" He leaned his chin on both hands like a woman eager for juicy gossip. "What was _it_ like?"

Kivan's brow furrowed.

"You know: Finally completing the 'great thing' you'd survived against all odds to accomplish?" the necromancer elaborated.

Khalid had known Xzar long enough to be rather certain the man _did_ honestly believe this to be polite conversation; and so covered his face and shook his head with a tolerant sigh. Aegis was less forgiving: "Xzar."

The wizard perked up at the sound of his name and then smiled bashfully at her and the Harper. "Was that insensitive?" he wondered. "I never can tell."

Kivan was quiet for a long moment, but before the question could be forgotten or Aegis could say anything more, he answered: "Bitter." Xzar looked at him. Khalid lifted his head and make sympathetic eye contact.

A sad smile twitched at the necromancer's lips. "I'd started to expect as much," he admitted quietly. Then he turned and smiled at Aegis. "I shall need to pick up a few spell components, and then I should be able to at least scry on your sister. Would you like that, my Moaratuk?"

Aegis straightened. She considered the suggestion and then she nodded. "Xan's probably still out of it anyway," she remarked. _And it's probably better not to let Xzar linger around Kivan while they're both acting a little odd. _ "Alright, I'll go with you then." She looked at her quiet uncle. "Still heading to the temple?"

Khalid glanced at Kivan and then winked at Aegis and nodded; he knew exactly how to handle things. Aegis was impressed and gave the half-elf a one-armed hug. He returned with a happy smile.

"Why don't you order breakfast?" she suggested to Xzar, who shook his head.

"I'll be able to eat soon enough," he said. "I am sure you are eager for word of Imoen."

When Khalid and Kivan were done eating, Aegis and Xzar let them out of the booth. Aegis finished up her breakfast as Xzar watched.

...

* * *

Xan was sitting cross-legged beside Branwen's knee and enjoying a bowl of lentil soup while Branwen worked her way through twelve boiled eggs and an entire leg of ham. They were talking about horse-tossing.

When a knock came at their door, the elf wiped his mouth, set down his food, and stood up gracefully to reach the door. Branwen admired the way he moved.

"Dynaheir!" Xan smiled upon seeing who it was, and he opened the door wider. "Come in; we were just having breakfast."

"It is good to see you are alright," the Wychlaran sighed gratefully, entering the room with Minsc in tow. She looked to Branwen, who sat up a little further and waved to her. "And you! We had expected you to sleep much longer!"

"Ha!" Branwen chuckled, and she took another big bite out of her ham. "You underestimated me then, you did! Have you eaten?" She thought the witch looked a little gray.

But Dynaheir gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "I am not feeling up to breakfast just yet," she admitted.

"I have not eaten!" Minsc announced.

Branwen's eyes widened and she held her ham protectively to her breast, for Minsc was many times larger than Dynaheir and possessed of a far more robust appetite.

Minsc noticed her defensive posturing, and his gaze turned sorroful.

Branwen looked at the Ham, and then to Minsc.

The Rashemi man scuffed his feet and looked at the floor.

Ham. Minsc.

Branwen sighed and then carved off a chunk of ham and offered it up to the Rashemi.

"Huzzah! Glorious war woman _does_ love Minsc!" the man proclaimed, and then he hopped up to join in ham appreciation with her. "Boo and I were slightly worried," he admitted, as Branwen laughed and thumped him on the shoulder.

Xan closed the door behind them, and came up alongside them. He looked from Dynaheir, who appeared quite worn with dark circles under her eyes, over to Minsc. The ranger seemed to be worried despite his playfullness; and Xan realized that Dynaheir must not have been sleeping very well.

"Why don't you sit?" Xan suggested, waving for her to take the chair as he resumed his seat on the edge of his bed. Dynaheir wavered for a moment before taking the offer with a small word of gratitude.

"What happened after I was knocked down?" Branwen asked them. "Did everyone get back right fine?"

"I know the answer!" Minsc proclaimed. "The little pink sneaking friend and our grumbly but big hearted lady druid are catching up! Or, at least, that is the plan..."

"Well d'ja get the Red Wizards in all?" Branwen turned curious eyes on to Dynaheir, quite interested. After all, the Wychlaran had elected to carry one of the most dangerous and difficult parts of their plan.

Dynaheir, surprisingly, winced. "I did."

Branwen wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, but she had a funny feeling this explained why Imoen and Jaheira were bringing up the rear of the group. She decided maybe this wasn't the best topic for further conversation. Instead, she struck upon the idea to ask Dynaheir about Kivan.

That ended up working out much better, as it appeared both she and Xan had slept straight through Kivan and Viconia going at one-another's throats. Xan was horrified, and Branwen, of course, had plenty of groans to heave about missing such a spectacular wrestling spectacle.

...

* * *

When the second knock came at Xan's door, he started considering whether he might go and ask the acolytes for some extra chairs. Standing up, he went over to the door to find both Khalid and Kivan. The two were immediately surprised to see Dynaheir, and this confirmed Xan's suspicion that the Wychlaran had been up and about before dawn- most likely owed to nerves.

"M-may we come in?" Khalid asked.

Xan nodded, and looked from him to the wild elf. "Kivan," he greeted his fellow elf, feeling a warm glow of relief to see the archer was still very much alive.

Kivan gave a small smirk and came over to Xan in specific. [I see your friend has kept her healthy appetite this morning,] he whispered so that full use of his vocabulary was easier.

[That is all you have to say!?] the enchanter demanded. [You were _kidnapped_! Carted off on a horse! Imprisoned! And then you challenged half a bandit camp to a thousand-on-one match up!]

Kivan smirked and lifted one of his hands. Xan had not previously seen their condition. The sight made his eyes widen, his ears droop, and the color leave his face. [With only six fingers,] the ranger agreed, perhaps a little smugly.

Xan looked up at the wild elf's face, only just then realizing how lucky he was to be talking to Kivan at all. What with tending to Branwen, he'd only had so much room left over to worry about everyone else. He wanted to lament the other elf's terrible maiming, but for a moment he was far too relieved to focus on the negatives. [You rash fool,] he blurted, and then he hugged the archer tightly.

This, more than anything, made the dour ranger smile. Elves who spent too long among men often had an easier time identifying with other elves, no matter their differences in background or creed. Kivan returned the enchanter's embrace briefly, and then patted his back and let Xan pull away.

[Aegis explains you slew Tazok?] Xan asked. [Yourself?]

[Aye. Kicked an arrow through his eye.] This time, Kivan's voice was deadpan; he was not bragging.

[_Kicked_?]

[He had protective magic,] Kivan explained. [Needed to get close.]

Xan opened his mouth. Then he shut it and shook his head wonderously. [Good.] He uttered the word firmly. [Well _done_,] he told the taller elf, clasping Kivan's shoulder and looked him earnestly in the eyes. [I know there were times I called you reckless or single-minded. And as you know I am... well... prone to think the worst of odds. But you killed him, anyway. A life debt was at last paid; one long, long overdue. Friend, let that ease you what it can.]

Kivan bowed his head briefly, momentarily overcome by the sensation of standing beside someone who could comprehend even a fraction of what he was going through. It sounded in part that Xan might be talking from _experience_; and Kivan thought he'd ask the moon elf about it later.

[They say you were in a melee of your own...] the wild elf noted after a moment.

[Well, I...]

[That you stood valiantly over your sweet with little more than your Moonblade.]

Xan blushed scarlet.

Kivan smirked and clasped the other elf's shoulder warmly. He glanced at where Dynaheir, Khalid, Branwen, and Minsc were talking. Then he tilted his head towards the door, and the smile dripped from his features. [Will you walk with me?] he whispered hopefully, and his voice betrayed a weaker foundation than he had initially revealed.

[Unhesitantly,] the enchanter agreed. He looked to Branwen, waved to get her attention, and then gestured to Kivan and the door. The cleric winked at him and nodded. With that, he turned and ushered Kivan gently out into the greater temple.

...

* * *

The two elves walked in silence for a bit. Xan led the way to the temple exterior so that they could get away from the eyes and ears of other living beings; but for awhile, Kivan still did not volunteer speech.

[If... if it will make it easier... I can cast a spell to communicate with you mentally,] Xan offered.

The archer broke out in a dark chuckle. [You do _not_ want to be inside my head,] he informed Xan.

Xan frowned, concerned that Kivan would say such a thing. He decided not to argue with Kivan about which of their heads was a more stressful place to be.

[And it is not hard to whisper.]

[Are you sure of that?] Xan could probably count the syllables he'd heard from Kivan in all their friendship using double digit numbers.

[Yes. Aegis asks me for lengthy stories.]

That was curious, but Xan had started to suspect as much. [I... see... Well, what did you want to tell me about?]

For a moment, Kivan was silent. Then he answered: [The fight.]

Xan tilted his head to the side.

[The steps... the details... to... to solidify the memory. To make it real.] He took a deep breath, and pulled out more words: [I have passed the events of Deheriana's death ten thousand times through my mind; it almost seems more real or more current than her murderer's was...]

Xan touched his arm compassionately. [What was she like?] he asked.

Kivan didn't look up at him, and his answer rolled off his lips quickly as if he was afraid of losing his nerve and never revealing the truth: [She was a dancer. Hanali loved her, and her hair was as firelight. There was only one person who could pull me out of the shadows to join any form of revelry, and it was Deheriana.]

The enchanter fell silent, his eyes widening in sudden understanding and dismay. _Seldarine._ A tiny, well-hidden part of Kivan had once been _romantic_.

...

* * *

Xan and Kivan lingered out talking for well over an hour. Kivan did most of the talking, although his sentences became gruff and efficient again as he began to speak of the battle. Apparently, only the topic of Deheriana could entice adjectives from the grim ranger.

The conversation left the enchanter feeling compassionate, sad, nervous, and grateful. Although Deheriana obviously had few to no shared attributes with Branwen, Xan could not help but draw a parallel between them: Both women had apparently been good at coaxing introverted elvish men out of their shells.

He flinched and clenched his fists, scowling bitterly when Kivan spoke of Tazok's rape taunt.

[He was a monster,] the enchanter spat when the story was finished. [And had you perished in the attempt to slay him, I should have been glad to carve his heart out for you both.]

[I was glad he remembered me before the end,] Kivan rasped. [I was glad he knew who killed him, and why.]

Xan grimaced. [... I am glad you are still with us.]

Kivan did not reply for a moment. [And I, that _you_ are.] The enchanter looked at him inquisitively. [Imoen worries about you.]

_Oh... _Imoen was one of the few people fully qualified to worry about him. He looked away.

Kivan prodded: [Thinks you were ashamed to survive the Nashkel mines.]

The enchanter frowned, but his usual uneasiness did not appear. Instead, something_ worse_ surfaced, something _hollow_

When Xan spoke next, his voice was lower than Kivan had ever heard it: [When I put my sword through the half-orc, avenged myself, and put my friend's soul to rest; there was a part of me that truly lamented how cleanly the bastard died. There was a part of me- a terrible part of me- which wanted him to suffer through everything we had suffered.

[Most days I am proud of myself for how I handled that final choice. But on others, when the night is late and I haven't had enough wine, I wish I had forced my mind into his before the end, and dumped my torment there. I wish I had left him screaming. So... I know how shocking it must feel to you that Tazok ended in little more than a swift kick.]

Kivan's eyes narrowed, and he studied the moon elf's face with protective concern. Xan had always reminded Kivan very _slightly_ of Deheriana; perhaps because she had been just as petite, or perhaps because of the exact manner in which Xan had been used by his captor. [You are not saying something,] he was suddenly sure.

Xan stiffened, but didn't reply.

This bothered the wild elf tremendously; what could have been worse than what the party already knew? [You once had a fellow Graycloak,] Kivan recalled slowly. [Was she dear to you?]

Xan grimaced. [_He _was my good friend.]

Kivan's brows raised, and he was not at all thrown off by the stressed pronoun; they were all elves, after all. [Like Branwen is your good friend?]

Xan only shuddered and shook his head, looking out towards the horizon. [There is nothing on Faerun that can make me revisit the place in my memory where lurks the farthest depths of Nashkel mines.]

Kivan straightened. [Your Norheimer would listen to this story-]

[No one will ever listen to this story. There are some memories unfit for sane mines or spoken words.]

[You have heard _my_ story, and yet say this?] Kivan wondered hoarsely, realizing that he had had guessed off-target. This grudge sounded traumatic, and yet remarkably cold. What else had Mullahey done? Still, he predicted: [You will tell her.]

[Never.]

[You will crave something like absolution, and you will want it from _her_. So you must tell her; or you will not know how to let her love you.]

Xan looked back at him, his face drained of color and expression.

Kivan touched his shoulder. [This place we've gone is dark. Perhaps, if we are quiet for a bit, the shadow will pass and we may speak of brighter things.]

...

* * *

[I... alright, I confess bewilderment, and I cannot withhold my questions any longer: Why is your hair braided? Did the girls take advantage of your poor hands and jump upon you the way they are more commonly accustomed to doing with me?] Xan asked.

It was this curiosity which had slowly pulled him out of his melancholy and provoked him to conversation. Where Xan's own hair was straight, Kivan's was naturally misbehaved; but the change from uncombed to combed was still visibly obvious. Xan had expected hair to be a lighter topic for them, and was surprised when Kivan glowered and did not immediately answer.

Xan hesitated.

He noticed that Kivan looked strangely uncomfortable. After a moment, the wild elf lifted a hand and slowly touched his own hair. By his hesitant motions it appeared that Kivan had neither looked in a mirror nor even reached up to assess what had been done to him. His fingers found the braids, and he drew them forward to see they had been tied off with thread.

The enchanter raised his brows curiously.

Kivan frowned so tremendously that Xan would have said the wild elf looked _upset_. He turned the this way and that betwixt his fingers, as if expecting to find something catastrophically wrong with them. His imagination hardly seemed to be limited to hairdressing mishaps; it honestly looked as if he thought there might be demons hiding between the strands.

[Kivan?] he wondered, perplexed.

The wild elf looked at him unhappily, and then lowered his head and continued to feel over the combed strands and braided locks. Xan tilted his head to the side. Something seemed _seriously_ wrong with Kivan's expression.

[What happened?] he prompted gently.

The look on Kivan's face said either he had no idea where to start, or verbalizing the source of his displeasure was completely outside of his power.

[Well, who was it?] the enchanter prodded.

Kivan scratched slowly at the back of his head. Then he looked out at nothing. [Viconia,] he rasped.

Xan's jaw dropped. A moment passed in silence. Then: [Really?]

Kivan shook his head. [When I came to. When I could think. When I could move. She was there beside me, and she was doing this.]

Well, that explained how Kivan and Viconia had ended up trying to throttle one another in a fountain. Unfortunately, it left ten thousand other questions in its wake. Namely: Why would Viconia have done something so strange, and so foolish? It seemed almost _sentimental_. Particularly strange for a woman who had once offered Dynaheir's life in exchange for Kivan's.

The enchanter tried to think of what to tell Kivan, but everything which came to mind would most likely set the wild elf to dismissive scowling or downright anger. At last the only thing he could think of was: [I am sorry for that shock, friend. Usually, Ajantis or myself would have been on hand to discourage her from approaching you.]

Kivan looked at him sharply, and he cocked his head slightly in question. Xan didn't know what else to say. Kivan frowned. He opened his mouth to say something else. Then abruptly he stiffened, his face scrunching up in confusion as he looked ahead of them.

A very familiar black dog was walking across the wild elf's field of vision. It paused abruptly, and looked towards him. Its eyes were glowing.

Kivan's arms uncrossed and his lips parted. Xan looked off in the direction the wild elf was staring, but he saw nothing at all. With a raised brow he looked back up at the ranger. [Kivan?] he asked worriedly.

"Something's wrong," the wild elf muttered, no longer whispering. He watched the dog bound off and then shook his head and lifted fingers to his brow. "I-I feel as if someone just walked over my own grave." Abruptly Kivan twisted about and looked towards Beregost. "Mellon'nin-?" he mumbled. Then his eyes flew open wide. "No. No!"

"Kivan? What-?"

"Something is _wrong_!" the ranger snapped, and then bolted unarmed and unarmored away from the temple.

"Kivan!?"

...

* * *

[Author's Note]

Hold on to your seatbelts, I'm about to earn my M rating XD


	5. Cyric's Head

This is not a nice chapter. By any definition, the content would be considered graphic.

...

* * *

_**Cyric's Head**_

...

* * *

"So what is with halflings and _feet_?"

"Perhaps I'll ask the next I _meet_. I know _gnomes_ are fond of the common _pickle!_"

"All these _homes,_ and yet the crowd's just a _trickle_. It is really nice to be a morning _person_."

"Hnh! Scarcely anyone about to put a _curse on_!"

Xzar and Aegis were playing word games when they returned to the tavern. They headed upstairs so that he could scry in the comfort of their room. The nonsense rhymes had them laughing, so when Xzar opened the door and waved her in first with a silly flourish, she stepped in easily without thinking.

It took a moment for her to register what was wrong: This was not their room. And he had possessed the _key_.

Runes lit up up along chalk diagrams all over the floor and walls, and spiraled around the circumference of a many-pointed sun. She jumped, startled. In the center of the room was a large table carrying a single, jawless skull. The windows were barred; the room was otherwise dark.

Aegis knew what this symbolized, because Xzar had written her letters to educate her on the matter. _Cyric's Holy Symbol!?_

She dropped her weight, spinning back towards the door just as it slammed shut. Her eyes darted swiftly to Xzar, and to the dark and laughing smirk upon his face and the vibrant gleam of his eyes. He found something _terribly_ funny. Her lips parted in shocked confusion.

_What's going on?_ If Xzar so truly _hated_ Cyric, then why had he just led her to-? Her eyes widened. Had his hatred of Cyric might have been an act from start to finish? Had the necromancer might truly have intended her ill from the moment he first met her, _despite_ his fervent, vulnerable reassurances to the contrary. _But he seemed absolutely- he- he said he-?!_

Was he a Cyrite? Did he know that she felt gorged with confused, lost, and tormented spirits after the evening at the bandit camp? Had _that_ been the event he'd been waiting for-!?

"You-?" she whispered, lost.

Draconic flew out of the darkness behind her, and Aegis twisted back to see eight men and women striding out of the darkness. They were the last thing she saw before her vision went abruptly dark.

...

* * *

Aegis found herself standing on a field in a black and white world, staring across rolling hills of blurred features and fragmented apparitions. At first she could barely see anything at all, and she felt as if she was standing on a piece of paper to which an artist had not yet put his charcoal. It occurred to her that she was most likely unconscious, but she really couldn't be sure about the matter.

Then the middle ground of her vision came into focus, and she could see some detail at last.

Many yards from her and all around, she saw people without faces. _Many_ people without faces. They were watching her, tilting their heads to the side as if curious to find her in their domain. Some looked human; others were distorted, elongated, and irregular, and their bodies were held at impossible angles.

Then the background came in, dark and harsh. Bodies swayed gently in the wind in the distances; thousands of hanged bodies, suspended from trees by ropes. Their decayed parts dripped free one by one. She heard whispers and tears; she heard a nightingale calling.

The foreground came in; and it was more detailed. She was inside a building... a castle? A tomb? Or a torture chamber? The walls were built from bones and mortar with rungs of skulls.

A skeleton was playing a stringless lute some distance away, trying to woo a young woman in a featureless white mask. She was sitting in a rocking chair and nursing a dead piglet at her teat. They were not alone; Aegis could see at least a hundred equally detailed figures, and all of them were equally interesting.

Closer to Aegis was a person who carried his cage upon his back, and whose stitched body was knit together from shattered masks, broken bottles, rusted scissors, and desiccated cat corpses. He hovered near to where a woman's sensuous lower body had been splayed out on a rack, with hooks embedded in the flesh to hold it steady and a skull in her groin. Eight white hares sat nestled against her legs, their bellies swollen and their faces matted with ichor.

Of the many figures she had to look at, two more, in particular, stood out to Aegis:

One was a tall, magnificent, bipedal creature with no eyes or nose or ears, but instead just a_ smile_ that stretched from side to side of his face. His fingers were long, blade-like claws. He was wearing a long, elegant smock wrapped in leather bands, with crows feathers at the shoulders. It seemed he had been caught in the act of pulling out a man's spine, and now he looked confused about what to do with it.

Beside him was a scrivener who sat before an enormous book, and whose face was little more than three gaping holes seated in a potato-shaped head. But as beetles dripped out of his sleeves and rats crawled about his feet, Aegis could tell he was watching her. He wanted to ask her if she had seen his skull, and when she thought about it Aegis was rather sure she _had_.

They were watching her. They were _all_ watching her. Aegis stared back at them in fascination.

After a moment, she looked around again just to observe for awhile. As she focused her eyes off into the distance, the walls seemed to vanish again and she could see the hills, and then the hanging bodies. If she squinted, she could see large, bipedal spiders crawling quietly through the boughs. She tilted her head to the side.

When she heard tiny whimpers, Aegis twisted about and focused on what was near to her. She found herself surrounded by young children with buttons for eyes and stitched mouths dripping teeth and worms. They had forgotten their names, they told her. They had forgotten their names, and now they were nothing but empty sacks; empty sacks with no golden flies. Aegis wondered about these flies they spoke of: how could anyone have known their color under these conditions?

Someone grabbed her arm. A firm hand; A gentle hand, with long and blade-like talons. The touch made her jump, and she turned around to see the smiling but otherwise faceless creature looming over her, his teeth a pointy spread of white. Though his body had started off thin and stork-like, he seemed to be growing rapidly more human. After a moment, he lifted a hand to his head and tore off its own flesh. He bled. Aegis blinked slowly, watching. And underneath that facelessness, underneath that skin, he revealed face of a man.

Aegis was looking at the assassin, Nimbul, who reached up to cup her cheeks with both hands and who stared at her with intense concern. Behind her she could not feel the children anymore. Instead, she felt more hands on her, touching her arms, neck, hair, and back; Dozens and dozens of hands. Death had made all of them vulnerable.

"Where am I?" she tried to say, but no words came out.

"Cyric's head," the assassin mouthed; or at least that was what it looked like. She wondered if he meant _literally,_ or if it was a colloquial name for a real plane, or if perhaps it was a slang term for a magic spell, or if it might just be a thieves cant way of saying 'someplace crazy.'

As she watched, the nightingale flew up and landed up on his shoulder, carrying the feather of some other and much larger bird in her tiny talons. She sang throatily, and she seemed just as concerned as Nimbul. _How queer._ Aegis could not remember where she herself had been, or what she might have been doing. Her question to them was only: "Well, what should I do?"

Nimbul mouthed back: "Take off your skin."

And that seemed quite reasonable.

So she did.

...

* * *

Aegis hit consciousness with a scream; and long before she had any idea where she was or how she had gotten there, she was aware of the _pain_. The pain was how she knew she was awake, and that previously she must have been unconscious. It was an inconsistent but overwhelming pain; biting, throbbing, and aching to her bones. It was screaming through her bones.

The first thing she did upon waking was try to pull back from all the sources of pain, but tight pressure about her wrists and ankles refused to let her budge. Cuffs? Manacles? She was on her back on the table. She was _nude_. Her lips pulled into an open-mouthed grimace.

The next thing she became aware of were the sounds.

Tearing, grunting, salivating, dripping, giggling, praying. She felt pain like a vice on her shin and then heard a sound akin to torn burlap. Pain flew up her leg. Her eyes went wide and her jaw dropped as shock rushed in over her. Number, she slowly tilted her head back and looked up to see a man standing behind her. He was a cleric by his robes, if not the traditional kind. His smock was accompanied by wrapped leather armor, and in full he appeared almost roguish in kit. He was speaking fervently in Thari.

She shook her head in disbelief and then rolled her gaze to the side, looking at where the other mages and clerics were clustered about her arms and legs. They were leaning over her. They were biting her, and torn strips were missing from the insides of her arms and from the tips of her fingers.

She was being eaten.

The priest above her stopped praying and slammed his book shut. He set it aside, and then he knelt down behind her. Aegis was unaware of him until she realized his shadowed faced was hovering near to hers. Then he was biting into her cheek, his teeth digging down to pierce through the flesh. Her brows furrowed together in morbid fascination and horror. A tearing sound and freshly located pain snapped her back to her senses.

The thrashed and dislodge the cleric at her face, a scream tearing out from her lungs. She willed her bonds to break and strained with all her might. Then she felt a wet and painful snap in one of her arms as some small bit of tendon tore free. A wave of terror hit her then, because her body was her _tool_ and it was being damaged to the point where it could not be used. The cleric at her head tried to reclaim his grip on her, and he lowered his head for another bite.

Aegis bit him first; and she bit _much_ harder.

With a howl, the Cyrite stumbled backwards, blood spurting from his mouth where she'd severed his tongue and a good chunk of his lip. She spat out the discarded tissue. Some of the Cyrics were standing up, and she heard a _wet_ sputters of draconic.

Aegis' eyes rolled back and she grit her teeth, bracing herself. _Focus. _The words seemed to slow down in pace and measure. Waves of white and black bloomed up before her eyes. The knowledge that _submission _meant death tore another brutal scream from past her ragged throat, and then green and golden energy spat out in a nova from where she lay, haloing out around her. The white-and-black images broke apart. For a second longer, she there was hope.

The men and women grabbed at her in surprise, holding her down on all sides. Above her, it seemed the Cyrite priest had mended his face because he grabbed at her head from behind. She could hear Thari, and Draconic; prayers and invocations. She didn't know how far she could stretch her abilities; could she resist another round of spells?

As Aegis tried to figure out what to do, she felt a jab like a needle beside her right leg. Anyone who might have presumed her general pain would cover up a single needle jab had clearly never been in true agony before; she felt it almost _worse_ than anything else. She kicked slightly, and then suddenly felt a fingertip slide down the bottom of her foot like the world's softest feather, spurring her toes to curl in reflex and causing pain to light up all the way along her shin. She looked down in horror.

Xzar was there.

His face and hands were splattered with gore, and rich red blood flowed down his chin and over his neck. He was watching her with that same amused expression on his face she'd seen earlier, and his eyes were glowing a vibrant, knowing green. As she watched he casually lifted up a small potion, shook it, bit the cork off, and then tilted the mouth to the hollow needle he'd just forced into her leg. He didn't say a word; but he was still most certainly smiling.

Aegis' eyes widened. Then her head fell back with a thud against the altar. She arched her back. Her jaws parted but no sound came out. A vibrance was shimmering up through her veins, first through one leg and then fanning out from her heart along her circulatory system. Her lungs caught the brunt of it, and each beat of her heart was like a drum. It was a sensation alien to all her past experiences; and yet it reminded her vaguely of throwing horses.

Strength. Magical Strength.

Her upper lip curled, and her fingers balled up tightly into her palms. Her face contorted into a mask of frustration and anguish as her arms and legs and abdomen all simultaneously tensed. She _roared_.

Aegis tore her right arm free of its bonds, shattering the magically augmented bonds with a audible twang of burst metal and a rush of green or gold or something in-between. She reached up, grabbed and man by the neck, and dragged him headfirst into the altar beside her so hard that his face _splattered_. Fingers grabbed at her. A spell hit her; a spell that did nothing because her mind was unavailable for charming.

Aegis bit the next fool who got an arm too near. She snapped someone's wrist and then pulled her second arm free with a scream that shook the earth.

Behind her, the cleric put a knife to her throat. She grabbed him by the arm and threw him forward over her head into half his fellows. She sat up, grabbed the pulped-faced-wizard off of her, and cast his weight out like a flail to bludgeon aside the other half. His bones crackled under her damaged fingers.

She was a _Dragon. _

She lunged for the bonds at her feet, digging her fingers under the metal and then yanking with three limbs at once. CRANK! One leg loose. Then the other.

Xzar watched her and did not move from where he had been kneeling and partaking of the ritual. His emerald eyes were dark, intense, and satisfied as he looked up into her face.

He was most _definitely_ smiling.

...

* * *

The high priest stumbled backwards. His hood had been thrown back, and his face was already bruised and battered from where he'd gone bowling through his comrades. He stumbled back from her alarm, crying out onto his god for power.

Cyric was not the Death which answered him.

The ranger- how was she possible?!- hit him with the force of a much larger creature. She shoved him or rather threw him by the shoulders, and he flew into the wall with such force that the timbers trembled. He cried out in shock, stumbling and nearly falling to his knees.

Were her wounds doing nothing to stagger her!? He looked up at her approach. Just as swiftly, her hand was on his neck. She lifted him off of the ground like he weighed _nothing_, like he wasn't even human. She didn't get better leverage, and her muscles didn't bow. She hoisted him aloft like a thin piece of linen, her fingers wrapped just as carelessly and loosely about him. He grabbed frantically at her arm and kicked for leverage against her knees, trying to keep from strangling under the weight of his own body.

"C-cyrr-!" he begged.

She shoved him back into the wall. She struck him. Her hand went through the muscle at the base of his sternum like a spear; like a quarterstaff in the hands of an ogre. Her knuckles hit his spine through the front wall of his body.

The high priest's expression went slack, and his eyes went widened. His kicks fell limp beneath him.

Xzar had stood up from the foot of the altar, but otherwise he did not move or speak. He stayed in place with his arms at his sides, his head cocked to the side, and his eyes focused intensely on nothing in particular. He was listening. He was listening to the crackling and snapping and whimpering as Aegis folded the high priest in half.

Aegis heard footfalls as one of the wizards staggered back to his feet and squeaked out draconic past a bruised trachea and a few busted ribs. She spun about from her prey, her eyes still on fire, her body slicked with blood. She started forward, charging back past the altar. The staggered wizard threw forth his spell.

_Calm Emotions._

Xzar frowned.

A far-away look came over Aegis' face. She stumbled and then slowed to a halt, blinking stupidly past the high of blood and the incense of torn bowels. The wizard who had halted here... he was chanting something else. He wasn't the only one. Aegis could hear an elvish voice. Her gaze turned curiously towards the door, where a tremble of violet magical energy was rippling along Cyrite runes. She tilted her head to the side and stumbled slightly, heady.

The feeling of green eyes drew her attention to Xzar. He was standing just beside her; between her and the door. His gaze had lifted to her face, and yet still he said nothing. The smile had left his face, and he looked worried.

A slam hit the door, and they all heard the tell-tale sound of wood splintering as the lock burst free of its confines. Aegis lifted her gaze to see an arrow flew across the room. It hit the Cyrite wizard in the chest and threw him backwards as two elves charged into the room. Before Aegis could register what she was looking at, Kivan had loosed another arrow. This one nailed the wizard's head to the wall behind him.

...

* * *

The room was still. Still, and red, and covered in carnage.

Xzar closed his eyes and took in a slow, deep, pleasurable breath of relief. He loosed it in a happy sigh, and didn't otherwise move for the moment.

Xan and Kivan both paused. Then Kivan bolted forward and cast his bow off onto the altar in his hurry. Xan's eyes widened. Aegis stood there, naked, bathed in her own blood and mattered in other peoples' gore. Her flesh was torn and in many places looked all-together absent. Indeed, _chunks_ were missing; and it was a mystery how she had been successfully flexing some of her limbs. Her cheek had been torn open. The tips of her fingers had been gnawed down to bone and sinew, and the bones seemed dark even in the room's poor lighting. Her torso had been etched with magical sigils of a most profane nature.

"Sweet... sweet... _merciful_..." Xan whispered, struck dumb with horror. Then he mumbled a weak: "V-viconia?" as his brain tried to piece together whatever it was he ought to have been doing. _How is she upright?!_ He glanced briefly at Xzar, but the necromancer was turned away from him and looked incredibly overwhelmed.

Kivan reached Aegis and the first part of her he touched was her face, and she blinked slowly as she seemed registered his nearness. Her brow furrowed. Then a wry smile twisted over her mouth, and her eyes lit up in recognition. "I think I'm high," she informed him conversationally.

The wild elf stared at her, lips parted, at a loss for what to do. He had never seen anyone so badly wounded in all his life except perhaps once, and he had snapped her neck for love of her.

Xan was managing to get his typical panic rolling, and he spun about with drooping ears and wide eyes: "VICONIA! AJANTIS! _VICONIA!_"

Viconia didn't even shout for him to shut up as she sprinted past. She had Shar-Teel in tow.

Aegis looked up at the two women as they entered the room, and smiled more. She made momentary eye-contact with Xzar, whose expression looked sleepy and out-of-touch. That was when the headiness overwhelmed the ranger girl. Her gaze drifted, and her eyelids sank, and she dropped limp and wounded into the arms of her people.

...

* * *

An elf enchanter gagged and staggered a bit, his hand over his face as he tried to shut out the gore.

"Get her on the floor! Now!" Viconia instructed in an adrenaline-filled rush. Shar-Teel reached forward to try and help Kivan.

But Kivan looked at Viconia with an almost _angry_ expression, his face twisted with horror as he clutched the bloody girl tightly to his breast. Shar-Teel looked from him to Viconia in alarm. The cleric's jaw dropped.

"Don't just_ stand_ there, you dismal, arrow-happy imbecile!" The drow shouted scathingly. "She is about to _die_!"

Kivan's lips parted. Then he knelt and quickly laid down his tattered burden. Aegis appeared to be slightly conscious, but her eyes were not blinking, and her pulse was weak. Viconia dropped to the floorboards beside her, and placed her hands upon their leader's chest. Shar-Teel watched anxiously, unable to help.

Viconia called frantically: "Shar give me your fervor; your restlessness; guide to me the blood and strength this child lost to her enemies!"

White energy washed out from the cleric's hands in a gentle caress. Aegis gasped in hard, shifting slightly.

Viconia sighed out hard and then quickly began examining the fallen ranger's injuries.

"That was only a minor spell-" Kivan hissed.

"Shut _up_!" Shar-Teel spat, and of course she outright hit the elf upside the head. Kivan flinched in surprise, and turned violent eyes up towards the fightress. "You're not helping anything!"

"You have done your job now let me do mine!" Viconia insisted rapidly. Xan thought, with morbid fascination, that Viconia tended to speak very quickly whenever she was upset. "If I simply blanket her with healing in this condition I have no doubt I will maim her!"

Kivan looked slowly back down at her, swallowing heavily past the thickness of his hate.

"This will keep her_ breathing_ until I know what to do!"

Office Vai of the Flaming Fist and Ajantis had both reached the room. They each paused no more than two feet inside the doorway, because there was gore blanketing the floors and walls of the room. Vai's eyes widened and she hurried up to examine some of the bodies. The paladin was so overwhelmed that he couldn't manage to think, say, or _do_ anything at all. It didn't help that there looked to be no enemies to smite.

As Viconia worked, Xan at last worked up the courage to drag himself forward. "I-I'll open the windows." he whimpered.

"Do not!" Viconia interrupted. "I can see fine! This place is fouled by all manner of disgusting magic, and it only by the grace of the darkness that I am able to work here at all. We need to move her swiftly after this!"

Xan faltered and squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want to look at Aegis. After a moment, he turned slowly about and cast shaky eyes over the bloody altar. "Xz... xzar, what _happened?_" he asked. He tried hard not to faint, but the _smell_ was overwhelming. Then he noticed the sun inscribed on the ground. _Cyrites?_

Xan's gaze darted up to the figure of Xzar. The necromancer stood there, looking relatively unharmed. His mouth, chin, and throat were bright scarlet with blood, and the stains had blackened the front chest of his cloak. His eyes were heavily lidded and he was watching Aegis with a sad smile.

Xan stiffened and backed up a step. His eyes widened and a sneer of disbelief curled his lips. "W-w-?"

Xzar blinked and gave his head a little shake as if clearing it, and then turned an innocent expression onto Xan. He stood there for a moment, unmoving. Then he smiled. "Hello elfy," he greeted brightly.

"_What did you_ _DO_!?" the enchanter howled, his voice cracking.

Kivan looked up at them, and his eyes immediately caught on Xzar's disheveled state. His shoulders tensed. Shar-Teel's lips-parted and she tilted her head to the side, her brow narrowing in confusion and surprise as if she wasn't quite sure of what she was looking at.

Xzar giggled, and lifted up one of his fingers to lick it. "I procured a potion of Cloud Giant-" He paused suddenly, a bewildered expression coming over his face. Then his cheeks lost their color and he stumbled a step to the side, clutching at his stomach. "H-hold on a second," he whimpered. "I need to... I need to..."

He turned away from them and bent rapidly double, his forearms bundling up against his waist as the first convulsion hit him and he vomited copiously all over the floor.

Xan stood there, his face frozen in an expression of incredulity and terror, as Xzar unloaded mouthful after mouthful of what looked uncannily like pulled pork in pea soup. The purging looked quite violent. Xzar vomited bile for a few more heaves after he was already empty, and his sides trembled as he attempted to calm down.

No one managed to say anything. Ajantis nearly lost his balance in just standing there.

...

* * *

Alone out of all of them, Viconia remained focused at the task at hand. They could hear her start to pray again in the background, but this time she was interspersing Thorasta with Drow.

"Ohh," Xzar sniffled miserably past stomach acid, phlegm, and a significant chunk of his girlfriend's right calf. He stood back up shakily, his posture hunched as he tried to keep further convulsions to a minimum. After a moment of catching his breath, he twisted slowly about to peer meekly back at Xan and the others. "That," he mumbled, "that was very nearly a disaster."

Xan's mouth and eye twitched. "Nearly?" he asked.

Xzar thought about the question. "Well, she missed one."

The elf stood there, surrounded by blood and listening to the feeble breathing of their leader, with crumpled and broken bodies on every side of him, and he stared at the crimson running down Xzar's painted face. He curled his nails into his palm as his mouth pressed closed into a thin line but for the sneering curl of his lip.

Gone from Xan's face was any expression of fear, the necromancer realized. The elf had lowered his chin almost to his breast, such that his cyan eyes were glaring out contemptuously from behind lowered brows. Xzar knew that expression: It was not anger. It was not disgust. It was _hatred_.

A moment passed in silence. Then the enchanter lifted a hand and gestured efficently: _"Nok lum sahrot voth-"_

The necromancer winced and stepped forward pleading: "Wait, Xan-" he requested softly.

_"-hahnu nis grolah," _the enchanter finished coldly.

Xzar staggered another step, lost his balance, and then lost consciousness. He hit the ground with a heavy thud.

Xan strode up to where the necromancer had fallen, reaching down to his belt as he did so. He grabbed hold of the Moonblade handle, and drew the weapon free with one elegant motion. He raised the weapon up high in both hands, the tip pointed down.

Someone grabbed him. Someone grabbed the elf around the middle, hauling him backwards from the necromancer's prone form. Xan struggled single-mindedly to try and get forward. "Stop!" came Ajantis' voice from above him. "He's unconscious and unarmed!"

"Then his death with be more peaceful than he deserves!" Xan spat with icy venom. "Release me."

"He was not hostile towards us! He as good as surrendered!" Ajantis disagreed. "Stop! You must not do this; it is evil!"

"Evil!?" Xan exclaimed violently, twisting about to look at the paladin. "_Evil!? _Look around us, you well-mannered fool, look at your '_Evil_!' "

"We don't know what happened!" Ajantis disagreed.

"We know he _ate_ her!" Xan shrieked, jerking free of the paladin's hold. "We know what he was and still is: a necromancer, a Zhent, and the walking incarnation of every sick story that ever came out of Moonsea-!"

Ajantis advanced a step on him and thundered: "That is not for_ you_ to decide! Aegis is not dead! Law has not been driven from the land! At the very least he deserves a trial!"

"What court would absolve him!?" Xan thundered, gesturing at where Officer Vai had stood up and was watching all these proceedings. "He is a _ZHENTARIM NECROMANCER!"_

"And _she's_ a fucking _DROW_!" Ajantis shouted back, gesturing at Viconia. It was most likely the first time the paladin had ever cursed in all his life, but he didn't even seem to notice it. Xan reeled in surprise. "He needs no court to have a chance at defending his actions before his victim!"

Xan backed up a step, startled.

"There are rules!" the paladin advanced on him furiously. "Do you think I am not appalled- I am _beyond_ appalled, I feel _spiritually violated_\- by what happened in this room! But I will _not_ stand by and watch you murder your unconscious friend in a fit of impassioned vengeance, nor will I permit you to betray this party's only law! You will not harm him; you will _wait _with the rest of us!"

The enchanter's lips parted. "And how will you stop me?"

Ajantis drew his sword and pointed the tip at the enchanter's throat, lifting his own chin and fixing Xan with a look that said he would _absolutely_ run him through if the elf forced him to. Shar-Teel shouted to them.

"You delusional-" Xan began, but then frowned when he saw Shar-Teel had vaulted over the altar to reach them. He expected her to draw out her own weapons and assault someone, but that was not at all what happened.

In fact, what she said to them was: "I'm kissing the first asshole to take a swing at _anyone._"

...

* * *

Xan had sheathed the Moonblade. After a moment, Ajantis had followed suite. Shar-Teel didn't leave them, watching both men with wary expressions. Officer Vai observed all this without speaking.

Darkness blew in voluminous forms over the ground suddenly. It stretched out in silken tendrils from the corners of the room, and then billowed in soft transparent tapestries from the ceiling and walls. It coiled into thick shapes across the floor like smoke, blotting out the floorboards from view.

Ajantis looked across the room to Viconia. Her white hair stood out shockingly in the darkness of the room.

For a moment, Xan thought morbidly, she could almost be said to serve as a central vocal piece for an ominous work of art, with darkness rolling in on all sides to swallow up the many bodies. Her voice had risen in volume and fervor.

The darkness blanketed the floors and walls in their entirety; like heavy rain clouds; like smoke from the blackest fires; like a river of oil; like the veil of some gothic maiden. Kivan stiffened, looking down uncertainly as the shadows licked up around Aegis' body.

Viconia bowed her head.

The darkness began to recede.

As it pulled away from the walls and floorboards, the party realized they could see nothing of the gore which had limed the space only moments previously. Indeed the more that the darkness receded, the more it could be seen that the bodies of the Cyrites had vanished, leaving formless cloaks draped over empty clothing and armor. The blood was gone; the components were gone; the black sun was gone.

Lastly it pulled back from the body of their injured leader, revealing intact muscle and newly restored flesh. Aegis took in a shuddering breath, writhing slightly at the feeling of being whole.

Kivan leaned over to examine her. She seemed to recognize him again briefly, but then the strain of the day became too great, and she fainted.

...

* * *

[Author's Note]

Good job, Ajantis.  
Good. Effing. Job.


	6. Behind Closed Doors

This chapter is PG ;) Please proceed as normal.

Also the fabulous evil old halfling hag flashbacks have returned.

For some reason, I keep forgetting to mention I have a couple more fan art pieces on my Deviant art account!

...

* * *

_**Behind Closed Doors**_

...

* * *

_Tallix was having a hoot. When the too-many-faced-man had started creeping up near the Harper camp, she'd expected she might need to plant a few warnings about that better eyes than his were watching the couple, to attempt and 'dissuade' him from his mark. That hadn't happened, and when he'd boldly walked straight towards their camp, Tallix had expected a tussle._

_That tussle had never happened._

_It looked like Jaheira could smell a rat._

_The Harper bint had stood up almost immediately and shouted a warning for the man to come no closer. The too-many-faced-man explained he was simply a humble traveler, and asked if he might share their campfire for protection and company. His voice was honest and innocent in timbre, but Jaheira did not give an inch. _

_Jaheira questioned him mercilessly on everything from his gear to his purpose in traveling. The man found himself easily able to answer all of her questions, and his story was perfect. But Jaheira did not seem to become any more friendly. The man picked up on her hostility, and after a time he excused himself and apologized for disturbing them. He left her sight.  
_

_Tallix cackled soundlessly, and listened in to see if she could hear what had tipped the two Harpers off._

_Khalid turned to his wife once the man had gone. "Do you think we should move camp?" he asked._

_Jaheira sneered. "Grab everything. I will call on nature's blessing to enhance the wild growth, and we should leave him quickly behind." She scoffed. "__Any man that genuinely trusting, I pity in this world. __Who, with such picture-perfect knowledge of the outside world, leaves the Trade Way in the Forest of Tethyr, travels this far into the northern forest, manages to survive the dangers of these woods, encounters another party alone,__ and does not immediately jump to the conclusion that they have either stumbled upon bandits or werewolves?"_

_"A Caleshite," Khalid concluded, with a condemnatory tone Tallix found silly given that he himself was a Caleshite. __"We're being followed. Although... he didn't look or sound the part."_

_Close enough, _she thought with a grin. _Wrong bad guys, but I suppose I won't hold it against you!_

_"That was what worried me," Jaheira agreed. "Let's move. If we see him again, I'm bashing his skull in."_

_Tallix could learn to like these kids._

...

* * *

When Xan entered the Song of the Morning, he was clutching his elbows tightly across his chest, and his face was heated. Branwen saw him almost immediately, even though she was currently being helped through her first wobbly steps by Minsc and Khalid.

"Xan!" she called. "You were gone for _awhile_. Where's Kiv- what's wrong?"

Xan took in a quick breath at the sight of her upright. Then he grimaced and quickly approached the group.

"Aegis was attacked. She should be fine, but I came to let you all know," Xan told them quickly. Dynaheir's eyes widened, and her shock was certainly accentuated by the perpetual dark circles under her eyes.

"What h-happened!?" Khalid exclaimed.

"The Zhentarim," Xan answered. "It's- I barely want to think about what I just saw. I feel _sick_. She's... she's fine. That's all I have to say. I'm sure the others will alert us when she wakes."

Branwen straightened, slipping an arm from Khalid and waving to her partner. "Hey, hey, Xan!" she called. The elf quivered and, after a moment of vulnerable hesitation, he came up and accepted her one-armed hug.

Dynaheir turned to Khalid, and the two began deliberating over whether it was wiser to rush to see Aegis or else remain with Branwen, who could not yet leave the temple and who was still vulnerable.

...

* * *

"So. That was weird," Shar-Teel broached after Xan had left the two of them to guard the unconscious necromancer. They were using a noble class suite as a holding area for him, and Xan had warded the room quite thoroughly in case Xzar should turn hostile or attempt to escape upon waking.

Ajantis looked at her, a grim look still stretched tight across his youthful face. He was quiet for a moment as his mind traveled from past ruminations into the present. "Which part?" he asked.

"How about all of it?" the fightress retorted.

He grunted as she found herself a table and sat down upon it. She kicked out her heels to rest comfortably at an angle, and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Not the least of which bein' you jumping forward to helping this slime," she jerked her head at the sleeping wizard.

Ajantis took in a slow breath, straightening himself. "Why is that surprising?" he asked.

"Bastard's evil in a blatantly obvious, magical, extremely fucked up way," Shar-Teel retorted.

"There is plenty of time for him to receive whatever punishment he deserves, and there was no melee nor emergency which made capturing him inadvisable. He was not even hostile."

"Oh come on!" Shar-Teel laughed darkly. "He's on a whole 'nother level over bandits and raping, killing, and pillaging. No?"

Ajantis' nose wrinkled. "There is nothing about despoiling a woman's virtue and then cutting her head off that seems inherently better than tearing her flesh off with one's teeth," he disagreed.

"Well they don't have to _kill_ her afterwards; they can carry her off on their shoulders like a trophy and make her a wife," Shar-Teel smirked.

The paladin watched her for a moment. Then he shook his head. "I don't know what you are trying to bait out of me," he confessed.

Shar-Teel grinned and sat forward in cruel and sneering curiosity. "You've never lusted after a woman you're not supposed to have?" she asked in disbelief.

"Once, allegedly," Ajantis intoned.

"And you didn't do anything about it?" she laughed.

"Apparently I did," he countered. "And I woke up naked in her room, listening to snores that could wake the dead."

Shar-Teel raised her brows and she watched him with her lips in a parted grimace, as if she could hardly believe what a weird and stupid thing she'd just heard. Then, when he said nothing, she scowled and slumped forcefully back into the wall; and she looked terribly put-out.

Ajantis waited to see if she would say anything else. Then he looked back off at nothing. "I have not forgotten that the wizard is our ally. That it was Xzar's plan that permitted us to wipe out the bandit camp both with minimal casualties to ourselves and even unto our enemies, many of whom were farmers caught up in the desperation of the economic climate and who can now seek penance and return to their lives.

"I have not forgotten that he was kind unto Xan, who in killing him would have been taking vengeance for emotional pain. I have not forgotten that he is our leader's lover, the victim's lover, and that she deserves to be present to arbitrate his sentencing. I have not forgotten that he did not block us from reaching her side, nor that we have an incomplete pool of knowledge. I have not forgotten our rules against infighting, nor what happened to Kagain.

"And I am not eager to watch any unnecessary death after what I saw in that room. I am a Helmite. At times like this, it is my duty to remain cool-headed."

Shar-Teel was a little disgusted, and it showed in her face. She rolled her eyes. But then after a moment, her expression smoothed out. He dare not honestly believe he saw _respect_ or understanding on her face; but he saw something non-hostile, at least.

"Can't believe you still take that shit seriously," she muttered. "Compensating for something?"

"You would know one way or another," he answered quietly.

The corner of her mouth drew down into a one-sided grimace. He wasn't giving her _anything_. She looked down at her hands, and picked some grime out from under her nails. Then she tilted her head to the side and eyed him. "You're a knight-squire, right? Does that make you nobility or merchant class?"

"I am surnamed Ilvastarr," was all he told her, but she nodded.

"Dosan," she replied.

He blinked. "What?"

"Name's Shar-Teel Azul Dosan," she replied as she shorted one of her nails with her teeth. "Coat of arms is black and bronze. Has a winged helm with a checkered cross on a shield. Not that it's done anyone in the family much good in half a century."

That got her a reaction at last. He stood there in shock for several seconds, before his lower jaw drooped and he was confronted by the unpleasant truth that people of noble blood were deep down cut of no better stuff than common thugs and riff raff.

Shar-Teel smirked. "Don't worry. You didn't deflower me," she teased with a wink.

...

* * *

Aegis' eyes opened slowly. The room swam into focus, and she concluded that it was, by no extent of the imagination, morning. The orange light of a late Uktar afternoon was flowing in through the windows. A splitting headache was pounding through her skull, but headaches had long been Aegis of Candlekeep's lot in life; she'd ranger sat up slowly, confused by where she was and how she had gotten there.

After a moment, she registered she was in her bedroom; and that Xzar was not. Kivan and Viconia were, however. Both perked up as quickly as she roused, and Kivan stepped forward to see her.

"Should you two really be within arm's reach of one another?" she asked, groggy. "I seem to remember a near-drowning incident."

"Mellon'nin," the ranger sighed in relief.

Viconia waved a hand dismissively. She didn't share what surviving four hours alone in a room with Kivan had entailed, but Aegis was inwardly impressed at the self-control it must have required of her. "You were nearly murdered."

Aegis' brows drew together. Then her face lit up in memory and she sat up swiftly. Her headache flew into a full and raging drumbeat, and Kivan jumped forward as if to steady her. She didn't need the help. "Xzar," she realized. A moment later, she grabbed hold of her blankets, and threw them off. She registered that she had no clothing on. Then she recalled she was in a room with two elves, both of whom had clearly seen her naked.

She swung her legs out of bed. Her favorite ranger grabbed her arms in protest and positioned himself in front of her. "Rest!" he insisted fiercely.

'Rest' was not at all what Aegis wanted to do; not with Xzar's blood-soaked face fresh in her mind. But she took stock of Kivan's expression: His teeth were clenched tightly together between words, his eyes were wide, and and he was wearing a frightened looking grimace. She frowned and looked down at herself. Assuming Viconia had healed her, the drow had done a phenomenal job. Aegis felt great, and there were no obvious signs she'd been injured. She looked back up at Kivan.

"I'm fine," she told him firmly. She had hell to raise, and apparently no need for coddling. "Let me up."

He hesitated.

Aegis grunted, grasping hold of the bed and pushing herself to her feet. Kivan shifted out of the way, still looking incredibly unsettled. "I'm fine," she repeated, putting an arm about the wild elf's shoulder and pressing her mouth firmly to his hair. He sighed heavily and released her, composing himself as she stepped away from and looked about for her clothing.

Viconia tilted her head to the side, watching these interactions and at the same time looking for any signs of weakness in how Aegis moved. There were none: the young woman again moved like a robust and menacing woodland beast. _Great brute that she is._ "I don't believe I've ever seen anyone shake the aftermath of such a badly needed heal spell that fast," the drow remarked. "Even Branwen is still recovering."

Aegis shrugged, not really caring. She was picturing Xzar's unwavering grin as he'd slammed the door shut behind her. "There's a reason I run at the head of every battle," she countered as she went to examine her damaged clothes and fresh laundry. She cursed to find her gambeson damaged. At least her drawers and trousers were fine. "Where is my necromancer?"

Viconia found her lack of modesty refreshing; surfacers were so prudish. Aegis would never look as knightly in plate as Ajantis, she thought; the girl didn't have the right posture for it and her gait was more similar to Kivan's. Perhaps the two 'rangers' actually had more in common than the dark elf had realized. "The male is being detained two rooms over by Ajantis and Shar-Teel," she pointed.

Aegis paused in lacing up her trousers and gave the drow an incredulous before responding: "Whoever paired the four of you up for watch duty was smoking something." Then her amused expression deepened into a frown. "_Ajantis_ is guarding Xzar?" she asked sharply, grabbing for a clean chemise.

"I wouldn't worry," Viconia chuckled. "He defended your traitorous madman from execution at the hand of our hysterical enchanter. Rest assured that the satisfaction of dealing with the necromancer has been reserved for you and you alone."

There were many implications of the drow's words, and Aegis let them sink in for a moment before she resumed dressing herself. Behind her, Kivan had put his hands on his hips. Rather than worried, he now looked impressed with the younger ranger. No one had expected Aegis to rise for at least a full twentyfour hours, and they'd all assumed she'd be feeble for at least a day afterwards. Instead, the girl was up again before all light had left the sky, and she looked unphased by her ordeal and ready to tussle.

"Are you not shaken?" the drow wondered. Aegis' reactions had long seemed different than those of other surfacers.

"Shaken?" Aegis asked in disbelief. "I'm _angry_."

At that, Viconia couldn't help but grin.

...

* * *

When Aegis shouldered her way into the holding room, Ajantis was startled into a, "M'lady?" which he was not typically prone to using on her, and Shar-Teel gave an admiring whistle.

"I'm up," their leader growled. "And him?"

"The necro's been silent," Shar-Teel replied. "Which is just as good or I might have pulped his head to stop the crazy."

She gestured to where Xzar had curled up against the wall on the far side of the merchant suite. He was sitting with his knees tight against his chest and his chin on his folded arms. His gaze traced along the floor towards her until they found her boots, and then slowly lifted.

Aegis grunted and walked past her two 'guards', heading straight towards the necromancer. As she approached, he avoided looking at her face. Instead he he got his long awkward legs beneath him, and sat kneeling on his heels, his gaze fixed on her boots and his fingers clasped nervously together against the skirts of his robes.

He looked frightened. There was no blood about his mouth or in his robes. Pretzels had been curled up beside his hip in a ball, and she stirred and looked around in bewilderment when his movement roused her.

Aegis took in a slow breath through her nose. Her demand, when it came, was terse: "What. Happened."

The necromancer kneaded at his fingers and robes, twisting the fabric tightly. "I..."

Kivan and Viconia had entered the room just behind her. The first wanted to shout; and the latter wished to offer her expertise, but both noticed that Aegis looked inclined to wait for an answer. Even so, they watched as the blonde woman's hands tightened into fists at her sides.

"I-I had orders," he managed, looking hesitantly up at her.

"Orders," she repeated. He nodded mutely. "Orders!" she exclaimed incredulously. "Who gives orders to cannibalize someone!?"

Xzar thought about the question and attempted to answer her accurately: "Well numerous people might, I suppose; but in this particular instance it was a high priest of Cyric at Darkhold by the name of-"

"Why were they after _me!?_" she shouted. "The only people who should be after me are these same bastards who are screwing up the Western Heartlands! Our goals and the Zhentarim's align- what the fuck happened!?"

Xzar winced, shrinking back from her tone. "Mon'awon," he mumbled unhappily.

"_Montaron_? The hell Xzar; the _hell_ does a bitter halfling assassin have to do with _anything_?!"

Xzar flinched and winced and fidgeted as she shouted. At last both of his hands sprung up to cover his mouth, and he bit firmly onto his index finger. Aegis' presence was commanding within the room, and her other companions held their tongues to watch.

"Well!?" she prompted. "I am waiting on a fucking, gods-damned thorough expl-" She cut off when she saw that Xzar had bitten down so hard that he'd cut through his own flesh. Blood was trickling down from his fingers, and over his chin. Her eyes widened, and her brows narrowed in even greater anger. Ajantis grimaced and looked away.

Xzar stammered past his hands: "T-this wizard wonders at thee D-death's supposition; motive unclear? Oversight; vague? Presumed recourse simplist-"

"Xzar!"Aegis shouted, angry.

The necromancer cringed, biting down harder. His pale green eyes were wide.

Aegis breathed in hard and planted her hands on her hips. She lifted her head and looked at the walls, biting her lower hip. Then she closed her eyes and dragged a hand through her hair. "Oghma," she breathed, "Give me my _father's_ patience."

"The words twist; the first-betrayer no longer topic; then what is the metal: silver or gold? W-which? Whose?" Xzar mumbled past blood, staring off at nothing.

"Do you need me to hit sense into him?" Shar-Teel called churlishly.

Viconia looked up at Aegis, disgusted with Xzar. "I doubt this one would speak plainly if subjected to any form of interrogation. Do you want us to put him out of his misery, or would you like the pleasure for yourself?"

Aegis glanced at Viconia irritably and then looked to Xzar dropped her hand. When she spoke again, her voice was level and controlling: "_Xzar." _The necromancer blinked, his eyes still glassy and dazed. "_Xzar. Xzar_, look at me."

The wizard did as she bade him, lifting his head. His gaze seemed out of focus, but Aegis could see the spasming muscles in his jaws slowly loosen.

"Good. Keep looking at me. Not at words, spirals, ghosts, rabbits, or faceless demons. Not at background, middleground, or foreground- at me."

His brows furrowed uncertainly over his wide eyes, and his pupils contracted slowly from their wide dilation.

Aegis stepped forward slowly, covering half the paces between her group and him. "_Xzar_. I want you to stop chewing on your hands. Now. And then I want you to get to your feet and stand up. Can you do that?" she asked him.

Xzar stared up at her for several moments, searching her face. Then his lips parted, and he shakily lowered his fingers to clutch both hands meekly against his chest. It took him a short duration to remember what the second part of the command was. Then he grasped at the floorboards and pushed himself unsteadily up to his feet.

He tried to put his fingers back to his mouth. Aegis raised a brow daringly. He froze, looked at his damaged fingers, and then looked back up to her.

Aegis nodded, and then lifted her hands and beckoned to him. "Come here," she instructed.

The necromancer's jaw dropped, and his posture crumpled a good three inches worth of height. "What?" he squeaked in confusion and dismay.

Kivan sneered. "Mellon'nin!" he hissed as Viconia raised a brow.

But Aegis still waved the necromancer forward. "Come _here_, Xzar," she repeated.

For a moment, the green-robed man could only gape at her. Then a bewildered murmur worked its way up in his throat, and he staggered forward a step. Aegis watched. He came forward haltingly, one step at a time. His face pinched up in disbelief. She kept waving him closer.

Xzar paused a pace from her, sucking in a shaky breath, his hand still clutched feebly in front of himself. He searched her face. Then he threw his weight into her hold with a choked howl. The Nature Childe wrapped both arms around his shoulders and back, and she hugged him to her as if he belonged to her.

"Shhh," she breathed into his hair, chafing roughly over his back. His fingers clutched tightly at her gambeson and he shuddered violently. "Shhh, shhh..."

...

* * *

"Oh come _on_," Shar-Teel snapped, stepping towards Aegis and the necromancer. "You gave in to _that_!? To _pity!? Are you fucking drugged? _His face was caked in your blood when we found him!"

Aegis laughed, and the sound was a rich, sharp bark. "I've never _pitied_ him once in my life," she said as if the very idea were absurd. "I've scarcely been more angry outside of a berserker trance in my life; I'm _furious_, and I want to shout and scream and belt invective at him until I'm as hoarse as a wild elf._"_

"Then do that! Why are you _coddling_ him!?" the fightress demanded on behalf of everyone else there.

"Because even attempting to build a long-term relationship with a mentally unstable death-wizard requires a significantly different subset of skills and tactics than does loving a person whom you know to be better than yourself," Aegis replied dryly. "Even at- _especially during_\- the insane times."

Shar-Teel looked at Viconia for instruction. "Can I hit _her_ to knock some sense into her?" she demanded with relation to their leader. Viconia appeared to entertain the request.

"The lady said: 'attempting,'" Xzar noted, his voice muffled by Aegis' clothing. "Implication of_ failure_. Has this wizard lost her companionship?"

Aegis nudged her wizard's hair with her chin. "_You_ are going to be lucky if no one _executes_ you," she reminded him. "I'm told Xan already tried."

"Oh," the wizard realized, forlorn.

"By the way. You asked me a question about metal about a minute ago," she reminded the necromancer. "The answer was 'silver.'"

"He must have been _very_ patient," Xzar decided, and no one else had any idea what they were talking about.

Aegis grunted in agreement. "Xzar, while the Cyrites were cannibalizing me, you put something into my through my blood. What was it?"

He shifted slightly, lifting his head slightly as he reconstructed himself from his flopped and shattered pieces. Then he looked up at her with furrowed brows. "A potion," he told her. "Of Cloud Giant Strength."

Aegis did not have much of a head for spells, but she had been raised by a wizard and amid a great deal of mundane books on interesting topics. Cloud Giants were twenty feet in height, and easily weighed two and a half tons at nearly five thousand pounds.

Shar-Teel's brow wrinkled and she placed a hand on her hip. "Cloud Giant? A vial of that stuff goes for a few thousand a pop," she recalled, and Aegis thought this was interesting insight coming from a fighter. Either way, Xzar had not been frugal.

The necromancer continued his explanation without so much as acknowledging anyone else: "I knew you would be injured; and that you would have to be able to kill them all very quickly before they had a chance to use magic. The close quarters worked to your advantage, and I gambled correctly that they did not know you could enter a war trance."

Aegis' eye twitched. "I pulled a man's spine out through his stomach," she realized. Ajantis blanched at this confirmation that the majority of the carnage they'd witnessed had been owed to Aegis.

Xzar leaked a giggle and quickly pressed his face into her so she couldn't see it. He couldn't help himself. He moaned: "Oh Moaratuk, my Moaratuk, it was _glorious_. Filthy, simpering, mad-knaves; they touched you, they touched places only I had ever touched, and I had to watch them, I had to _let_ them, I had to HELP them! But I knew, I knew, I knew, I _knew_ you would pay them back, and then he bit your face- your poor face!- and you, you, ah! _Y__ou_ _folded him in half!_" He gave a long, delighted sigh. "Oh, did he _deserve _it. Oh, did he _deserve_ to see Death's face and to realize his folly..."

Viconia frowned and stepped forward, rounding their leader to eye the necromancer. "Your reasoning has holes in it, fool. Why did you elect to follow these 'orders' in the first place?"

"I was obliged to," Xzar murmured. "I was obliged to help them. I am still obliged to help them."

Aegis and Viconia shared a look. _Obliged? _

The drow frowned. "We need to find our enchanter, rub him up against his Norheimer until the static calms him down- or however that works- and then get him to have a look at this fool. There are plenty of magics, subtle and otherwise, which can compel a man to act against his own will." She lifted her chin. "Tell me, madman. Now that you have effectively betrayed these Cyrite clerics, what consequences do you anticipate?"

The question seemed to cow the necromancer, as his voice dropped to a very small sound. "Hunters," Xzar answered. "With their ropes, and their bags, and their knives... I don't want to go home, mummy. Am I to be alone? If I am to be alone, I must flee- and swiftly. It would be good to know as soon as possible."

Viconia raised a brow and looked to Aegis, surprised. "Does this make sense to you?" she wondered. "Why would anyone give him orders targeting you? And why would he incur such an oddly specific retribution?"

Aegis nodded. "Makes a bit of sense. I think it has to do with infighting or factionalism in the Zhentarim. He's refused to talk about much, but I've pieced together that his status is reasonably high. At the same time, he's been in bad standing with the Cyrite clerics of the Zhentarim, who seem to have a tremendously amount of undeserved authority over him. It has something to do with slaughtering a bunch of them. Leastways as I can tell, Montaron was his babysitter."

Viconia frowned. "We need to get hold of that fool enchanter."

"Aye," Aegis agreed.

Ajantis swallowed and asked: "Is no one going to remark on how _upsetting_ this whole thing was, or are we just going to pretend that going along with ritualized cannibalism and having eight men and women torn apart by an enraged and half-eaten woman is a praiseworthy method for solving one's problems?"

Aegis looked back at her paladin. "I think I need to put off that conversation until I've some idea how to make sure he understands," she admitted, and Xzar mumbled in Zhentarim Argot's Auld Thari that 'he was not a child.'

"Have you tried shouting loudly?" Shar-Teel asked, grumpy but apparently accepting the fact that Xzar was not about to die. "I'm told most people respond to shouting loudly. Not that I would know."

Aegis regarded the fightress with bemusement for a moment. "Alright. Xzar? I'm going to pick you up, carry you downstairs, sit you at a table, and get you some tea. This does not imply you are absolved or out of trouble."

"I think that sounds good," the necromancer sighed wistfully. "You must know by now that I am a firm believer no situation cannot be improved- at least in some small measure- through the proper application of tea."

She grunted and boosted the necromancer up, getting her arms under his butt and letting his legs dangle at her sides. He released her shoulders and hugged her about the neck, smothering his face into her hair. She made sure she had a solid grip on him. She did; he was not particularly heavy. When she turned to head out, however, she caught sight of Kivan; and she realized the wild elf had been staring at her with knowing darkness for a long time. She hesitated, not certain what to say to the elf whose own wife had been an angel.

After a moment, he shook his head and muttered, "Sisters," and then turned to exit the room.

Aegis blinked, straightening. "Wait, _what_?" she called.

Kivan snorted. "Red Wizard. Zhent."

Viconia chuckled. "Ah that's right; you fainted. Edwin Odesseiron is dead, darthir. Your poor fingers have been avenged."

Kivan paused in the doorway, one hand on the frame. He was still for a moment. Then he shook his head. "I could have taken that shot myself," he said. "I had the bead drawn; all I had to do was release." Then, with that hanging in the air, he headed out.

...

* * *

Evening was coming, and the wind that blew in with it was damnably chilly. It didn't help that his clothing was still rather disgusting and grimy.

Edwin crossed his arms across his chest, looking across the rough and sparsely foliaged terrain towards where the Song of the Morning stood against the backdrop of Beregost. "Well _that_ was anticlimactic," he muttered to Imoen. "I am very nearlyl disappointed. By now, I might have expected us to be assaulted by three bands of orcish raiders, two plagues, an unusually knowledgeable salesman of cabbage, seven riddles, two imbeciles, and a Roc Thunderbird."

"Hey, not every walk in the woods has to turn into a catastrophic disaster," Imoen laughed as she waved forward the ex-slaves. Faces were brightening up all over the place; they had reached the city! They had reached the city, and they were all still alive!

Edwin mused: "Or so I used to believe..."

"Well don't think about our uneventful journey too hard; it's not quite over yet and you'll totally jinx us!" Imoen teased. She looked around to make sure no one needed any help, and then she hopped up beside her Red Wizard.

Edwin glanced at her. She had her arms behind her back and was leaned over curiously that she might peer up at him. This stunk of mischief, so he looked away.

Imoen smiled. After a moment, she sidled up next to him and gently nudged him with her elbow. "Ya nervous?" she asked.

He scowled irritably and blew out a sigh. What he wouldn't have given for a hot bath. Or, really, a hot _anything_.

"It's probably sanest to be a little nervous," the thief observed with a grin. "This is gonna be rough. Ya ready to spring that Spell Shield lightnin' quick if something goes wrong?"

The Thayvian nodded, rubbing his fingers against the insides of his sleeves to try and warm them. He had Dimension Door prepared as well.

She pursed her mouth thoughtfully to the side. Then she looped an arm up under his elbow, and tucked herself to his side. He glanced irritably down at her. She beamed innocently. "You're_ cold_," she giggled.

He grunted, but echoed, "I am_ cold,_" in firm agreement.

"But it's hardly even _nippy_ out!" the child giggled, slipping her arm from his elbow and wrapping it instead around his back. "Not even any frost on the ground! Still colored leaves on the trees and everything!"

That earned her a sour facial expression as he uncrossed his arms. "Have I mentioned my homeland is on a sweltering, volcanic plateau, with regular and unforgiving sunshine? No? Hmm. Odd."

"We'll get winter clothing made," she promised him, still grinning brightly. "Silk won't work; you'll have to go with thick wool or cotton. Or maybe fur if you want to splurge like a spoiled rich boy."

He gave her an obligatory eye-roll. She smiled, but then shuffled her feet a little.

"Hey, um, Edwin? So... Even if you're not nervous, _I_ am. Can I have a sorta-hug for confidence purposes?"

Edwin lifted his arm and grasped her far shoulder around her back, pulling her tighter against his side. There he held her with his forearm as he slipped his hand through her hair. Nails traced lightly through the strands and over her scalp. Imoen was a little startled by how little thought he gave to the physical contact. It occurred to her that he must have wanted an excuse for it.

He wasn't the same wizard they had met in Nashkel; no matter his enduring flaws.

For a moment the duo stayed like that, in silent acknowledgement of one another. The next few hours were going to be difficult; not all people were as forgiving or happy-go-lucky as Imoen.

"Let's just get all these poor people safely into the temple," Imoen said at last.

...

* * *

[Author's Note]

I'm reminded of Aegis' hypothetical guidebook to the care and feeding of wizards for this chapter...


	7. Stress

I uploaded the second half of the comic I was doing for Kaispan on my Deviant art account. Warning: You need an account, as it I had to give it a mature rating.

Flashbacks: Tallix, Jaheira, and Khalid reach Waterdeep!

...

* * *

_**Stress**_

...

* * *

_[Still 20 years ago...]_

_Waterdeep was a purty city. Sprawled out on the ocean and cuddled up cozy along a mountain, it was like a splendid empress decked in gemstones. And her twin, the Undermountain, was a slimy, sensual, and winking gorgon twined about the empress' feet! But the best part of the city was by far the trees. The streets were lined with oaks that spread their boughs up over the houses. Truly, it did an old assassin's heart good to see so many 'sneaky death-by-pouncing-halfling' perches. _

_Tallix Snapdragon wasn't around many streets at the moment, but she was enjoying a comfortable spot in a tree all the same just a short way up the side of Mount Waterdeep, with the ocean glimmering out blue, when she spotted the Harper duo coming up the path. _

_Khelben Blackstaff Aurunsun was an interesting choice of informant. The man was one of the only male Chosens of Mystra, one of the leaders of the Harper organization, and the only Lord of Waterdeep whose identity was widely known. He was definitely a big potato__, and though he had played a role in forming Gorion's Bhaalspawn-hunting adventuring troupe, he would have been the last man Tallix would have suspected of knowing anything. _

_First of all, Tallix knew something the Harper duo did not: Gorion was alive and had vanished from Harper sights on purpose, whilst cradling a damned godchild to his breast. Khelben was the least likely person Gorion would turn to for help; hell, the archmage had put Gorion on his Spawn-killing path in the first place! _

_Secondly, men like Gorion were small to men like Khelben Arunsun. A Chosen had only so much time and energy; he could not worry about everyone who went missing on him._

_Or so Tallix would have presumed._

_But then Ole Blackstaff had immediately granted Khalid and Jaheira an audience at his tower; and that was a clue, whether any of the involved Harpers realized it or not. It suggested several things to Tallix immediately:_

_One: Blackstaff and Gorion must have been well-acquainted.  
__Two: Blackstaff had not merely _recruited_ Gorion to deal with the Bhaalspawn; he had _entrusted_ Gorion with the task.  
__Three: Blackstaff did know something, and either he planned to tell them what it was or else he planned to dissuade them from their search._

_As Khalid and Jaheira approached the tower, Tallix drew out a small makeup box made of stained pine. She opened it gently to reveal the small interior mirror, the powder brush, and the well of dull, red pigment at it's base. "Beggin' pardon to all involved parties," she said quietly to herself, a grin worming over her face as she loaded the brush with powder, "but I've a need for eyes where there ain't be any windows." She held the brush upright, placed her hand in front of it, and blew softly over the bristles. _

_The red powder bloomed into the air, swirling about in ovoid shapes and long wisps. The fine granules combined rapidly with one another and formed larger shapes, until it was clear that the powder must have been made from the crushed shells of insects. Momentarily, a large and dull red beetle had been blown gently into Tallix's palm. It crawled curiously about her fingers. She gave it a little kiss._

_"Tag the Harpers," she told it. "And keep yer head low, lest this voyage be yer last."_

_The beetle spread out its gauzy wings and then lifted into the air. It caught sight of the Harpers coming down Swords Street, and then dropped low into the foliage to make secret its approach. Tallix waited until it disappeared and then leaned back in her tree and folded the music box open flat. Through the mirror, she could see what the beetle saw. _

_The beetle reached the two Harpers, covering close to the ground. It however near Jaheira at first and then, seeing that she lacked armor and might possibly feel the impact of its landing, it turned to Khalid. It thudded silently into the back of his armored shin guard, scrabbled for a hold on the straps, and then quietly climbed to find itself a more secretive perch._

_Tallix crossed her fingers. _

_In the back of her head, a voice warned: 'You're makin a gamble, sendin eyes into the domain of an archmagus without first doing proper homework.'_

_But another voice, in the front of her head, laughed: 'Lived long enough; gettin bored.'_

...

* * *

_"Jaheira," Khelben sighed apologetically, "I cannot support this endeavor you wish to undertake. If Gorion yet lives- and I have not dismissed that possibility as you've assumed- then he is beyond our reach and quite possibly does not want to be found."_

_"Arunsun, you must have some clue or some hint about what happened to him!" she protested. "Whether you support our endeavor or not, will you at least share what you know?"_

_Khelben narrowed his eyes thoughtfully but then looked up at her face almost sternly. "I was his mentor, Jaheira. Do you believe I gave up on him swiftly, or came to my conclusions without evidence? Do you not think I asked these questions and more, or scryed to find him for months? I have counseled my outsiders and combed the lands we last saw him in; I have worked my spells and tagged my contacts and gone a number of sleepless nights; yet I have found nothing. What do you hope to find?"_

_Jaheira swallowed and then lifted her head high. "You have been evasive even in giving us closure, Arunsun. You have told us nothing about where he was or what he had involved himself in before his disappearance; nor what happened the night he disappeared."_

_"Gorion would not want you wasting your lives hiking across the Faerun looking for him in a thousand places we have already checked-"_

_"Pardon, Archmagus, but you first deny me closure and then presume to instruct me in how to grieve? I am not a child you need to protect, nor does your unsaid knowledge of events somehow make my heart lighter."_

_Khelben leaned on his staff and contemplated her. He had never particularly liked Jaheira from the time she'd been a young girl: the woman had a forceful disposition, an insensitive sarcasm, and a vexing tendency to always be right- even when she was wrong- that made one feel guilty in refusing her._

_But she was arguably Gorion's best and eldest friend. While he had been an apprentice, the half elf druidling had routinely made the journey from the High Forest- often alone, or by foot- to come into Waterdeep and see the budding mage. Khelben remembered the gawkish girl of many years past, standing in his atrium and demanding to be allowed to see her friend._

_Now she and Khalid were the only two of Gorion's friends whom he hadn't been able to dissuade from looking for him._

_"Jaheira," Khelben sighed. "Gorion's adventures were taking chunks out of his spirit. The people who were with him could all see he needed rest. But he pushed forward, wanting to make amends for his mistakes- and in the end, it seems he did. He disappeared after a final assault on a Shadow Plane fortress, a battle in which- thanks to his actions- we were completely successful._

_"After checking my bases and ensuring he was neither captured by the enemy nor in the Shadow Plane, I came to the conclusion he is both unharmed and does not want to be found. He walked away from the battle, threw up abjurations, and vanished. Intentionally."_

_Jaheira stared at him silently for a very long moment. "You led us to believe he had died," she uttered in a low voice._

_"Which was easier to swallow: that he was gone; or that he deliberately walked out on everyone who loved him, as a shell of a man who had shut out his eldest friends?" Khelben asked quietly._

_"You... you..."_

_"Aside from which, the conversation is moot. I assure you, Jaheira, I have absolutely no idea where you might even begin looking for G-"_

_"Khelben!" came a shout as the door to the parlor burst open and a gray-robed and silver-haired harper barged inside. An infant was screaming, and the loud noise drew everyone's attention. "I need to ask you for a fav-"_

_Jaheira's lips parted. Khalid's face lost all expression and he tilted his head to the side. He looked at Gorion. Then he looked at the shrieking blonde thing at Gorion's shoulder._

_Baby?_

_Khelben continued without missing a step: "Gorion, perfect timing! Lady Jaheira was just asking after you."_

_Gorion had gone absolutely still, his face blank and his eyes wide. "Oh." That was all he managed to say. He and Jaheira stared at one another, nearly unblinking._

_"Why don't you come in and have some roasted chicory?" the Archmagus continued as if everything was normal, departing Jaheira's side to fetch the drinks in question._..

_Still outside of the tower, Tallix Snapdragon straightened, her eyes widening. Then she bust out laughing so hard it nearly knocked her clear out of the tree. She dropped the makeup box on her lap, covered her face, threw her head back, kicked her feet, grabbed her side, and basically just laughed and laughed and laughed._

_Khelben Blackstaff Arunsun had just earned himself a spot on Tallix Snapdragon's 'favorite old people in Faerun' list._

...

* * *

[Present]

When the tale of the Zhentarim's gruesome assault had been told, Xan clearly felt no better for having spoken of the event aloud. By then Branwen was tired and needed to have a seat, so she asked for the elf to help her back to her room. No doubt she intended to try and calm him down once they had some privacy.

Dynaheir and Khalid shared a grave look as they walked away, each concerned for Aegis. "I think we should remain here with Branwen," Dynaheir said at last. Khalid nodded and opened his mouth to said something, but he was abruptly interrupted by Minsc's exceptionally loud:

"The strange chattering wizard has betrayed us!?" The ranger frowned intensely and grasped his chin. "Well! Boo and I would not say we are surprised... He _is _a very queer little fellow... But when Pretzels joined our valiant group, we had such high hopes!" He dropped his arms and heaved an enormous sigh. "Boo is incredibly disappointed."

For a moment, Dynaheir wasn't sure what to say to that. Then a smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. As addled as Minsc might have seemed at times, his gentleness and enthusiasm more than made up for it. After a moment, she reached up to pat his shoulder reassuringly. "As we are all, in some measure," Dynaheir agreed.

Minsc perked up slightly at the contact. Then he smiled a little and thumped one of his fists against the other hand's open palm. "Well maybe a distraction is needed! Do you think craft time might help take Boo's mind off of things?" the beserker mused hopefully.

Dynaheir, who had not at all been pleased to meet Boo on first acquaintance, had long since come to see the tiny hamster as part of their little Rashemi family. She reached up to pet the allegedly flustered creature. "I think that sounds like an excellent use of nervous energy," she agreed.

Minsc stared at the witch meaningfully.

The big man appeared to be waiting for something, but for the life of her Dynaheir couldn't figure out what. She blinked uncertainly up at him.

The ranger coughed and then in a shy voice suggested: "Well... Maybe... maybe the feisty one would like to join in crafts time, too?"

The Wychlaran chuckled. "That is very thoughtful of thee, Minsc. But I think not at this time."

Minsc straightened dramatically, his face screwing up in confusion and dismay. He looked briefly to Boo and then he heaved a great, shrugging sigh. "No, of course not Boo, you are not the only one with this 'nervous energy.' But what is Minsc to say to the feisty one about it? Minsc is good with swords, not words!"

Dynaheir jumped slightly, surprised by her companion.

Minsc furrowed his brow and cocked his head to the side as if listening. "Boo says... Boo says that words are exactly the same as swords... But without an 's'? Hmm... Well, Minsc does not understand what that means, and usually he leaves the spelling and the spells to his witch. But Minsc supposes this is important and so he is willing to give it a try!"

The big man composed himself and then spun about and shook a finger at Dynaheir. "If the feisty one will not take care of herself, then that is Minsc's job to fix! Boo _strongly advises_ Minsc's witch to reconsider crafts time, before her brain becomes as floppy as boysenberry jelly and as prickly as a cactus! There! How was that?"

And that was how Khalid ended up sitting with the two Rashemi, watching them knit a winter onesie and hat for a miniature giant space hamster.

"Knit one, then purl two," the beserker explained, for of course all relevant knitting supplies had been his, and it did not appear Dynaheir had worked with yarn more than once in her life. "See how it curves? Perfect!"

Khalid smiled to himself briefly, but then his thoughts went out to Aegis, to Imoen, and to his wife. The prayed _all_ of them were alright...

As fate would have it, a call went up far across the temple at exactly that moment, and his delicate ears picked up words about adventurers and bandit captives. Khalid perked up, looking towards the faint and distant sounds of commotion. "I-I heard something. I think they m-might be back-!" he exclaimed excitedly.

...

* * *

Jaheira was at the front of the atrium, not far from the fountain, and she was talking rapidly with one of Kelddath's Sirines. She had a very grim and serious expression on her face, and she looked to be worried about something. Behind her, leaning against pillars and receiving attention from the acolytes, were about two-dozen battered looking men and women.

Khalid could not have contained his excitement if he'd wanted to. "J-jaheira!" he exclaimed his wife's name, and then she'd been tackled out from before the Sirine and gone stumbling a good three feet to the side. Khalid fastened his arms about her middle and lifted her up to her toes with a laugh.

"W-we are n-not supposed to b-be separated, y-you know!" he chastised her joyfully.

"Khalid!" she laughed, her worries momentarily forgotten as she hugged her husband about the neck. Then they kissed, and deeply, for all that it was usually not their habit to display romantic affection in such a public space.

There hadn't been much time for celebrating a job well done yet for either of them.

"Boo! Look! Grumbly druid lady is back!"

Seeing that Jaheira was busy, and wanting to give the couple a moment alone, Dynaheir stepped out into the crowd. She was still exhausted, but Minsc was right: her nervous energy could not change anything, and Edwin's death had been unavoidable. But there remained one person- an innocent- who had cared for him; and Dynaheir had to face her eventually.

Dynaheir stepped forward through the crowd, looking for a sign of their party thief. She tried to imagine what she would say to Imoen. She couldn't apologize, exactly; but she _was_ sorry the grim way in which everything had needed to end.

Dynaheir rounded a pillar and paused. There, amid the many relieved and huddled forms, was a plucky, disheveled, pink-haired girl with black leather armor and poofed sleeves. She looked unharmed. She looked okay.

...

* * *

"Imoen..." Dynaheir breathed in relief, her shoulders slumping with the weight of the last few days. The witch scarcely know what to think or feel, as surely the girl must have hated her; but Imoen was safe, and that was _one_ that had gone right.

Imoen twisted about at the sound of her name. She caught sight of Dynaheir and her eyes widened in surprise. "Dyn!" she exclaimed, sounding surprised and worried. "You're here? Were you hurt?!"

The Wychlaran hesitated for a moment, searching the thief's face. She saw neither hostility nor grief. "I...I'm unharmed," Dynaheir replied heavily, stepping forward to reach the girl. "And thou, Imoen? Art thou... okay?"

"I'm fine!" the thief chirped. "Hey, but look, I'm only here for a sec. Now that all these poor sods are safe, I just really want to talk to my sis!"

Dynaheir took a deep breath and nodded. "Imoen, Aegis was attacked this morning."

Imoen tensed, her eyes widening as the Wychlaran came up before her. "What!? Where, how, why, when?! Is she okay!?"

"Xan conveys she is fine, and that she is resting in Beregost as we speak."

"Well don't leave me hanging!" The girl exclaimed, grasping the Wychlaran's shoulders and shaking her slightly. "What the fruit happened!?"

_Fruit?_ Imoen was in an unexpectedly giddy mood. Dynaheir wondered if it was a mask. Either way, the witch lamented the possibility of bringing her mood crashing down."She was very nearly sacrificed to Cyric. Xzar was involved... he was helping them," explained as tactfully as she knew how.

Imoen released her shoulders and leaned backwards, stunned and confused. _Xzar is a creepy evil wizard whose weirdo infatuation with my big sister makes about as much sense as a kraakan romancing a sphynx; but honestly the two are strangely cute together! _And Imoen was pretty sure the relationship between 'Xzar' and 'Cyrites' involved rabbit stew! "Well_ that_ doesn't make any sense at all!" the thief protested after a moment, dismayed.

Dynaheir shook her head unknowingly. She agreed the tale was odd but, truth be told, all she could think about at the moment was a certain Red Wizard's torture story. She felt nearly as nauseous about the whole thing as Xan.

Red Wizards were the last thing on Imoen's mind, despite the fact that she had been extremely fortunate to have left Edwin at the entryway to the temple. All she could think about was Xzar telling her never to leave Aegis' flank. _He wasn't just babbling half-crazy advice. He was warning me? S_he thought of the necromancer's extraordinarily pedantic and carefully detailed spellbook.

Imoen's face drained of color, and her back straightened as an epiphany rocked her: _Wait. What if nothing he ever says is genuine nonsense? What if it's just too nuanced to make sense of most times? What if I went back and looked at everything I've ever heard him say, and presumed that it made sense?_

Dynaheir continued after a moment: "Xan was distressed to the point he could barely speak, and I am to understand the details were terribly gruesome. Xzar is being held for questioning while Aegis recovers."

"Wow. Wow, wow, wow, wow, wow." Imoen dragged the fingers of both hands through her hair, her face pale. "Well... well, is she at the Juggler? I've got to see her; if she was hurt I've done gotta be there when she wakes-!"

Imoen cut off mid-sentence as she recognized a red shape that slipped into view not far behind the Wychlaran. For a split second she wondered if she ought to be concerned! Then she remembered he couldn't cast without being heard, and she was certain Edwin would not be so stupid as to assault someone with a knife in a temple to Lathander. _What are you...?_

Then the Red Wizard stepped closer, crossed his arms behind his back, and leaned over almost playfully near to the Wychlaran.

Oh _no_. Imoen's entire face drew into a disbelieving grimace as she realized Edwin had once again mistaken a power play for a demonstration of benevolence and was about to do something incredibly, incredibly stupid.

If he survived, she was going to enroll him in etiquette lessons.

Dynaheir blinked, startled by Imoen's expression. The girl looked like someone bracing to witness a disaster they were powerless to stop. The witch was just about to take a look behind herself, when a low and distinctly Thayvian voice rose up beside her ear.

"Stab," Edwin intoned. "You're dead."

...

* * *

The intermingled shrieks and intonations of Draconic, not to mention the thunderous crackles and clamor of metal, drew the attention of almost everyone.

"EDWIN!" they heard Imoen belt her disapproval over the crowd. "By all the gods! If she doesn't kill you, I WILL!"

Minsc spun about and drew out his sword in alarm, shouting: "Evil's afoot!? Fiesty One! Minsc and Boo are coming for you! YaaaaaAAAAAAAHHHH!"

"That red fool!" Jaheira snarled, releasing her startled husband and hiking up her quarterstaff. Then an enraged ranger went flying past her, screaming his fury aloud to the heavens, and Jaheira tried to figure out what the odds were that Minsc would chop the Red Wizard in half vertically as opposed to laterally.

If it was the former they'd finally be rid of Edwin. But if it was the latter, Jaheira had no doubt Edwin would survive the shock of bisection just to spite them all; and that Imoen would somehow manage to reattach the man's legs to his torso just in time for him to lecture them all for being ungrateful.

As if Edwin needed any more reason to bitch.

Bah!

Some distance away, Edwin counterspelled yet another static shock, and deflected the wild slash of the Wychlaran's knife as he stepped around her. Dynaheir was moving sluggishly, he noticed, and for some reason it appeared she hadn't slept recently.

Well he had no pity for her; not in the face of her hostility! Had he not just demonstrated his restraint? That he was capable of harming her but had declined to do so? Even now he refrained from casting anything, or from exploiting her clumsiness hand-to-hand! Edwin felt like spitting on the two-faced pagan, and he thought to enjoy taunting her longer, but he could hear the wrathful shout of an angry berserker and then Imoen's fingers grabbed hold of his sleeve.

"Get away from her, you stupid dragon!" the thief shouted, tugging at him. "Move!"

"Agreed," he muttered in realization, letting his apprentice pull him backwards from the fight.

Unfortunately, Dynaheir shrieked her way into a lengthier incantation as soon as he'd stepped back.

Edwin's lip curled in disbelief and his eyes narrowed in frustration as he recognized she was about to fire a Lightning Bolt. He snarled out the opening worlds for a Minor Globe of Invulnerability: "_Bild nol sahlag lah-!_"

"Stop! Both of you!" Imoen exclaimed, elbowing herself between the feuding wizards. Her presence- _thank Oghma!_\- brought them both up short. Dynaheir cut off the tail end of her spell, though the half-formed lightning bolt lingered as a veil of energy about her arms.

Edwin also bit down on the last syllable of his Globe as well, and not a second too late. His eyes searched the Wychlaran's unmoving pose as static crackled about her shoulders and fingers. _She's holding it,_ he realized in alarm._ She could still throw it faster than I could create another Globe of Invulnerability from the start. _The unfinished abjuration surged between his fingertips, threatening to burst apart, as he tried to wrestle the half-woven spell into a stable state. Invulnerability spells were not long lasting, and he had a feeling he still might need this one.

_Kossuth! _Abjuration wasn't his specialty school. And Dynaheir was hardly his only problem! As Edwin struggled to get the uncast spell under control, another big issue suddenly reared it's head: "Evil meet Sword!" Minsc bellowed, charging out of the crowd. "Sword, MEET-!"

Help came from an unexpected source: A rush of green energy bloomed in fractals over the ground, and then the temple cobble crackled as green vines burst up all around them. The plants grappled hold of Dynaheir's skirts and spun up one of Edwin's legs, and they entangled Minsc so abruptly that the ranger charged face-first into the ground with a muffled yelp and a hamster squeak.

"Enough!" Jaheira shouted, striding forward with her staff in hand and a commanding glare for all of them. "This is a place of healing and all of you should be ashamed!"

Edwin sneered, as neither he nor Imoen had attacked anyone; but he dare not say anything for risk of losing his spell. Dynaheir was not so silent and, as the electricity writhed about her hands, she shouted: "How doest thou yet breathe!?" at him.

Seeing as Imoen was between the two of them and Dynaheir could hardly discharge the Lightning Bolt under such conditions, the Red Wizard nearly gave up on his Globe in frustration so he could shout at the frustrating witch. But when Edwin looked up at her and saw Dynaheir holding her spell in its uncast state, even whilst deprived of sleep, the issue became a matter of pride. He grit his teeth and redoubled his efforts, sweat beading at his brow as his nails twitched subtly through the weave.

"I saved him," Imoen took responsibility instead, standing upon the writhing vines as if they were no hindrance whatsoever, while Minsc pushed himself up to his elbows and looked up at her in confusion and jealousy.

"_Imoen-!_" Dynaheir spat.

"He's not even attacking anyone!" the thief flailed in exasperation. Behind her, Edwin successfully subjugated the Globe.

Unfortunately that was the moment an elf enchanter, on hearing the sounds of battle, finally reached the center of the atrium and pushed his way through the crowd. "Dynaheir?" Xan began. "Jaheira! What is-?" He came up short as he reached them (he no doubt had been much too short to see what was happening past the heads and shoulders of others), and his eyes flew open wide. The elf pointed accusingly past Imoen. "What is _THAT_ doing here!?" he demanded in a shrill voice.

At the sound of Xan's voice, Edwin bust out laughing with startling force and volume. The impulse was so sudden that it nearly bent him double, and it startled each and every person present. For a moment, speech continued to be beyond him. Then, as Imoen peered worriedly back at him, he waved a dismissive hand and shook his head past painful grins. "_Both_ of them!" he wheezed almost wistfully. "Of course! Both of _them_, and no one else! (What else did we expect?!)"

Imoen wanted to strangle him; he'd blown his _own_ cover after all! Still, hearing a high-pitched tone of voice from him worried her, and she wagered Edwin was more frazzled than he'd let on.

Arcane fire cracked up someplace behind her, and Imoen twisted forward to see Xan had drawn his Moonblade and was advancing on them. She drew her shortsword in surprise. Edwin straightened, his lip curling as he tried to figure out whether or not to cast the Globe and resort to a swift Dimension Door; Instead, he considered Imoen's advice that his own voice mattered more than hers.

"Cease this!" the conjurer demanded, his voice rising in volume. "I did not come to fight! As the pink waif has repeatedly explained, the witch's fate is no longer my concern!"

"What about thy words should we trust!?" Dynaheir asked. Xan looked at Imoen and halted. The girl held out the short sword uncertainly, a nervous fear on her face, and Xan wagered she couldn't figure out what she was more afraid of: hurting Xan, or failing to stop him from pushing past her.

Edwin scowled. "If I was here for your head, witch, I would already be riding back to Thay as we speak!" he retorted, "Or did I not make that clear?"

Dynaheir straightened, a look of fury and incredulity on her face. "I _defeated_ thee, thou smug and unobservant bastard-!"

"I wasn't even _fighting_ you!" he retorted angrily. "I had already won back _my_ prize betimes I was speaking with you, and my only error was in trying to make it clear that _my_ actions had saved your life!"

"Thy _prize!?"_

"Yes, this fabled loyalty you so erroneously claimed I could not lose," he reminded her, gesturing at Imoen. "Or do you think I gave up the chase out of altruism even after you tried to kill me?!"

Xan advanced a step, his eyes narrowing further. "She is no _possession_!"

Edwin glared at the elf. "If she were a possession, she would already have been branded with a boar's head and would be located approximately halfway back to Thay."

The elf lifted his head, teeth grit. "You sick fiend," he uttered, his voice dripping with hate.

"What!? I just said she was _NOT-! _Do you fools only hear what pleases you!? She is still here! _I _am still here!"

The enchanter shook his head subtly. "You are a Thayvian, a Red Wizard, an assassin, a fanatic, and a _slaver_," Xan spat, "with no basic respect for sentient dignity nor the value of a living soul. Nothing has changed that."

Edwin's expression went cold, and his glower darkened. He surmised he was being internally compared to Mullahey, and he found that absurd. He had protected Imoen and the party in his own manner, even if they refused to see it that way! "Well fortunately yours is not the mind I must convince," he replied, all anger gone from his tone. "I will depart this place and travel into Beregost, and speak with Aegis as soon as her attention is available."

"His request is _reasonable_," Jaheira stressed, but Xan scowled at her.

"No, it is not," the elf said definitively. "His fate in correspondence with his sins was already decided, and he will not escape that judgement this time."

"Stop-" Xan stepped forward. "_Snuk gel ahrk shik!" _Imoen snapped, and a firecracker spell burst out from her fingers, shrieking and popping up so that she could get everyone's attention. Dynaheir and Jaheira jumped slightly, and Xan stopped moving. Edwin glanced down at her in surprise, and for the briefest of moments he smirked as he recalled the circumstances under which Imoen had learned to cast that spell.

"_Stop_ it!" Imoen commanded them all as she stamped her foot and dismissed the firecracker. "This is escalating stupidly! We didn't know you'd be here, and we didn't come to fight!"

Xan gestured bitterly with his Moonblade. "This man does not deserve your loyalty," he told her. "What is _wrong_ with you? Has he not caused you enough doubt, suffering, disgust, and tears? Where is the limit? When will you see-"

"NO!" Imoen's shout was so loud it completely drowned out his voice. "I have had this argument ten thousand times lately and I've done gotten _sick_ of it because it doesn't go anywhere!" She was screaming; screaming as loud as she possibly could such that her voice was hoarse and her face was flushed. "You act like you're omniscient, even though I'M the one who might actually know something important! Well you know what!? YOU call yourself my friend, and I've never needed someone to believe in me so much in my life as right now! And you-YOU-you are just IGNORING me! " she gestured widely with her arms. "You-you whom I let see my homework, you who apologized for patronizing me, you who said you'd finally realized I wasn't being taken advantage of-! Even when EVERYONE else won't believe me, I should be able to trust YOU to give me the benefit of the doubt!"

Xan shrank back, his eyes widening in surprise.

"I'm not asking you to believe HIM anymore, or to see sense, or to realize he's not attacking her; because CLEARLY you can't hear anything you didn't find first in your own head! Instead I've only one thing left to say: You won't get to him any longer except through me! You gonna spell _me_ to prove you're right!? Do you understand what TRUST means?!" She threw her hand back to gesture at Edwin. "Trust is when I was pushing a knife twitch by twitch into this one's neck, and he had a dagger at my chest, and he _dropped it_!"

It was fair to say Imoen had stunned the elf. He stood there, lips parted, weaving slightly. Seeing he'd been stopped, she whirled to Dynaheir and opened her mouth, but it was the Wychlaran who spoke first.

"Thou hast nothing to say to me and thy shouting is pointless," the witch intoned in a low and dangerous voice. "Thou hast not trusted me for months, and thine allegiances are clear. Seeing this, I would be able to forgive him if it were but a struggle or misunderstanding between he and I alone. But this man is an evil of a most perverse sort- a breed of creature who reserves his most profane cruelty for the people who would love him." Her voice growled out a deadly: "My _conscience _now demands his death."

"That's- you don't-!" Imoen _did_ have something to say, but suddenly her tongue was tied. The death of Edwin's mother ought to have been fairly attributed to Homen Odesseiron; Edwin had been a minor, even in brutal Thay, and completely at the psychological and emotional mercy of a single parent whom he most likely adored. But shouting her personal assessments of her best friend's most private and vulnerable thoughts, in front of a two dozen people and a Wychlaran, would probably destroy her relationship with Edwin faster than it would convince Dynaheir to forgive him.

Dynaheir shook her own head and then accused hatefully at the Thayvian: "You killed your own _mother_. You _tortured_ her to death, and you purred about it to me like a drunkard." Xan looked between them; this was the first time he had heard the Hathran referred to as anyone's mother.

Edwin grit his teeth, and whatever he might have said to defend himself died in the wake of old habits. "Yes," he told her bitterly, "when the alternative was standing by and drinking Ulcaster's finest aged wines while I watched a ghoul _eat you alive _because Viconia was willing to trade your life for Xan and Kivan's."

The witch's face scrunched up into an expression of rage.

Imoen clenched her nails into her hands and then stood up straight. "I am _not moving_," she told the Wychlaran, "until you let us go. This time I'm not too late to take a stand, and I'm _not moving_ just because you can shout angry things with passionate conviction. We did _not_ come here to fight _you, _and you are-"

"_We_?" Dynaheir breathed, and Edwin felt the sudden surge of magic.

"Kwefai!" he shouted, his eyes widening a fraction as he watched Dynaheir's finger move, carrying through with the held spell. Xan twisted in surprise to look behind himself. Edwin could scarcely make out her draconic as he lunged forward, throwing his arms tight around Imoen's waist to haul her off her feet. He twisted about, still holding to her.

The Lightning Bolt snaked through the chamber in a brilliant blue streak, bouncing dangerously close to Xan and to several bystanders. It cracked into the back of the conjurer's rapidly activating Globe, arcing around his body and streaked so close to Imoen's face that her hair rose with static and she was left temporarily blind

...

* * *

Silence echoed in the wake of the thunderclap.

Imoen didn't so much as twitch, her lips parted and her eyes round. Edwin stood there numbly for a breath, his back still facing the Wychlaran as his cloak settled. His forearms remained latched around the thief's midsection.

Then, slowly, with an incredulous expression on his face, Edwin straightened up and twisted back about to stare at the dark skinned woman.

Dynaheir still stood there as if frozen with her hand still outstretched. Rather than looking vindictive or angry, the witch looked as if she was about to be sick. She was shaking violently, and though her teeth were clenched her eyes were wide with horror. Everyone was staring at her but Imioen; even Minsc, who looked dumbstruck.

Jaheira stamped her quarterstaff against the ground and strode purposefully past Minsc and came to stand before the Wychlaran. The entanglement spell faded as she walked, and the roots and vines slunk back between the cobblestones. "Do you want to explain yourself?" the druid uttered the query at Dynaheir in a low voice. "Because you just tried to kill my niece." The witch looked up at Jaheira as if lost.

Edwin did not speak a word as he released Imoen, but his gaze darkened and his upper lip curled. His fingers clenched and shook.

"Dynaheir," Xan whispered, his ears laid back, because although Imoen had been making what appeared to be an incredibly stupid and dangerous decision, she had obviously not been hostile herself. He looked between her and Edwin, unsettled by the actions of both parties"What have-?" Dynaheir stood back a shaky step.

Xan glanced back at Edwin just in time to see the conjurer lunge forward. The man's face was a portrait of rage, and his pupils were contracted to dots as he let out a feral _scream_. Flames licked up and down the conjurer's arms, and the earth beneath him began to smoke as sparks broke out where withering vines caught fire between the cobblestones. He paused a moment, heaving with anger. Then he advanced on Dynaheir, his fingers flying through the motions of a Fireball.

"Edwin!" Imoen shouted as she realized what was happening, and she sprung after him to grab hold of his arms. Jaheira and Xan echoed her shout.

_"YOLZOOR HIL-!" _the conjurer screamed, although Imoen had him by the arms and he could not throw accurately. It was his expression, his hatred, more than anything that sent Dynaheir backwards. She turned and sprinted quickly in the opposite direction as flames exploded in the air behind her. Minsc shouted and quickly pursued her.

"Edwin!" Imoen exclaimed. "You're on fire! You're _burning me_!" Edwin could scarcely hear her. Jaheira and Xan stood there, eyes wide, uncertain what to do.

Dynaheir did not stop running. She fled the atrium with her ranger in pursuit. Edwin, shrieking in rage, lobbed handful after handful of explosive fire missiles after them, but all of them missed their mark by a wide margin. At last the druid scowled and stalked towards Edwin, shouting his name; thought it was clear he could not hear her, either

Edwin was apparently trying to follow Dynaheir. He struggled forward and tried furiously to dislodge Imoen. He didn't notice Jaheira, and in fact seemed blind to everyone. He must have smelled the burning however, because he did a double take of his apprentice.

Her skin was blistering. Edwin's eyes widened in disbelief, loathing, and alarm; and for an instant- by all the gods!- he nearly intensified the outpouring of heat in _hatred_ for the pink waif. But then he had throttled viciously down on the anger, and the conjuration halted as he wiped his arms to put out the residual flames. He grabbed Imoen's forearms and looked the damage they together had done to her flesh and archery bracers. These were no mild burns; her palms were raw and charred. She winced hard, squirming as he held her.

"You little fool," he hissed in anger and disbelief, glancing up at her face to see there were tears in her eyes. "You little fool, you little fool," he repeated, running his fingers gingerly over unblemished flesh around the injuries. When Jaheira reached them, he showed her arms to the druid. Jaheira squinted at him, but then she wordlessly took Imoen's hands into her own and began to apply her healing. Xan and Khalid stared after them.

"You grabbed hold of me!" Edwin shouted at Imoen just as soon as the healing had begun, and before anyone could accuse him of anything. "I was conjuring_ fire_!"

"It's okay, I didn't know how else to stop you!" Imoen retorted with a wince, still blinking back starbursts from the lightning and looking from Jaheira to her fingers.

"Stop me!?" he exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air. "She threw lightning at you!"

"She made a mistake!" Imoen responded, though she was still shaken. "I was being horrible! I took your side, I dared her, and for a second it just looked really bad! It's like the same thing that would happen if I were obstructing Flaming Fist warmages or something! Everyone makes mistakes; You've made mistakes; She didn't mean it! "

"_I've_ never tried to kill you!" he disagreed viciously.

To that, Imoen most certainly had a valid rebuttal: "You kidnapped me! Explosive runes! Potion withholding! Cave in! Waterfall! Two cups of wine!"

"That is not- that isn't-!" He looked away from her and then loosed a loud exclamation of anger and frustration, his fingers coiling at the air and heat blooming briefly around him again. Xan watched the tantruming Red Wizard, disturbed. Khalid stepped forward worriedly, but Edwin did not attack anyone.

Jaheira finished the mending and Imoen chafed at her arms. The girl tried to say something, but all that came out was an exclamation of surprise when Edwin spun back to her, grabbed hold of her shoulders, and pulled her into himself. {I'm sorry,} he told her in a miserably small voice, crushing her into his shoulder. {I'm sorry.}

Imoen wondered what had happened to Edwin while he was absent from the party. It was steadily becoming more and more obvious that the man she was interacting with was the same one who had met the Spirit Bat at High Hedge and subsequently fallen apart. Edwin was shaking. She hesitated, grasping his arm and collar uncertainly. Then she eased an arm around the back of his neck. {I'm fine... Dragon, I'm fine...}

Jaheira looked to Xan, grim and perplexed. A long and wordless moment stretched before all of them. In the distance, they could hear the voice of a Sirine, and footsteps that suggested Kelddath might both be up and coming to investigate. The druid took in a slow breath, and then informed Xan: [He intends to rejoin the party if Aegis permits it.]

The enchanter frowned, brows furrowing.

Imoen took a deep breath, steadying herself as she realized she needed to be the adult because Edwin was momentarily vulnerable. "Xan," she croaked. "Xan, can we _please_ just go into Beregost...? We are really... _really_... tired..."

Xan looked back to Edwin, studying the Red Wizard for a long, cold, weighty moment. Then he turned his gaze on Khalid. "We need to group up," the enchanter said in a low voice. "Please, help me transport Branwen; I'll not leave her here alone."

Imoen heaved a big, relieved sigh. Edwin looked at them. "Group up?" he growled uncertainly. Then he straightened a little. "What happened?" he asked in a more stable voice.

Xan eyed the wizard again, and there was no friendliness in his eyes. There was, perhaps, perspective. "Aegis was attacked by Zhentarim agents devoted to Cyric. She was partially cannibalized before falling into a beserker trance and tearing them limb from limb."

Imoen gaped and Jaheira's eyes widened. Edwin's brow furrowed. "And the necromancer?" he asked.

"Xzar was helping them," Xan supplied quietly.

Edwin frowned, slowly releasing Imoen. He appeared either not to notice he'd been hugging her in front of everyone, or else he did not deem it strange or noteworthy. For a man who had been known to balk at physical contact, watching him stand so close beside the thief was bizarre for especially Khalid, who had not previously seen it. "That doesn't make any sense," he unknowingly echoed Imoen's words.

Imoen nodded. "You said it. Xan, are you sure about whose side he was on? Montaron said he was about to go rogue and that he was a _Deathstalker_. That means he's a Bhaalite, right?"

Edwin, Xan, Jaheira, and Khalid immediately twisted to look at her. Imoen blinked painfully up at them, her vision still recovering. A moment passed in silence as several brains worked to digest what had been said.

Then Edwin leaned over, grabbed Imoen's shoulders, looked her straight in the eyes, and in a very low voice asked for them all: "_Excuse_ me?"

...

* * *

[Author's Note]

Stress does funny things to people!


	8. Funny Story, That

I get the impression we're about to have a Gorion-centric chapter coming up... Not this one but... soon... I suppose when that happens, I'll have to keep the flashbacks and present day distinct from one another. And warn you that you're going to see mixed scenes...

...

* * *

**Funny Story, That**

...

* * *

Imoen blinked stupidly. "Ah. Eh... Um... Well, ya see; funny story, that..."

Edwin's brows furrowed darkly, and Imoen felt he looked much angrier than the situation rightly warranted. She tried to figure out why.

Xan stepped forward. "Imoen, when and where did you see _Montaron_?"

Seeing that the immediate danger was over, Khalid turned and tried to reassure the crowd. With his stutter, he was not terribly effective.

Imoen fidgeted. "Well I didn't want to start off another round of panic, so I thought I'd just tell Aegis on the route up from Beregost! But then I- well I got in a fight with Dyn and I sort of, ehm, forgot I guess...?"

"Montaron is in the city!?" Jaheira demanded, alarmed.

"No!" Imoen answered. "He said he was heading south to Amn! He implied he was going to be in trouble when Xzar 'went rogue' and that he needed to get away from the Zhentarim! He seemed spooked."

Edwin gave her a shake. "So you met the traitorous halfling and you stopped to chat with him over tea, is that it? And then said _nothing?_ Have you forgotten he tried to kill your sister; or that he turned about afterward and murdered two people randomly, out of sheer spite!?"

Xan crossed his arms over his chest and asked dryly: "Oh yes indeed: Is it to become your habit to maintain correspondence with everyone who betrays us?"

Edwin straightened and made a face of disgust as he glared over at Xan. "Do not compare me to the traitorous, Zhent half-pint," he snapped. "I was neither partaking sexually of this buoyant marshmallow," he gestured at Imoen, "nor dishonest about my intentions when I left the party. I gave several day's notice under oath prior to the date on which I was even permitted to pursue Dynaheir. Not to mention the only people I ended up killing by the end were Red Wizards."

"Ah yes, yours was premeditated. Well, that makes things _much_ better," Xan intoned flatly.

{Like having sex with me would have _mattered_,} Imoen muttered and rolled her eyes. Edwin looked back to his apprentice. She caught sight of his bewilderment, and she gave a big shrug. {Well it's not like you attach any _sentiment_ to sex,} she reminded him. {You were sharing magic with me and, for you, that's practically the equivalent intimacy.} Edwin's face screwed up in what essentially amounted to consternation.

Khalid looked to Jaheira, who held up a hand in indication that he should say nothing. Instead, she stepped forward and tapped her staff on the ground. "We should bunker up in the Juggler for the evening. Whether one Zhent is a concern, or whether those whom assaulted Aegis have more representatives in the area, we should not be caught alone come nightfall. Let us put these all of these many _important_ issues on the back burner until we are safe."

The Thayvian glanced at Jaheira, still a little thrown off by Imoen. Then he recalled the event which had put them all into this uneasy truce, he asked in a low voice: "What about the witch?"

"You swore to me you wouldn't hurt her, and I'm holding you to it," Imoen reminded him, and he sneered bitterly. Truth be told, he'd expected this; she'd restrained him while on fire, after all.

"Imoen is in the right," Jaheira agreed sternly. "You left hostile towards Dynaheir, and returning such will do you no favors. The only thing you ought to be directing towards her is an apology."

Edwin's eyes darted to her in incredulity. There was no way on Chauntea's wide world that he would have _ever_, in ten thousand years, apologized to a Wychlaran; and certainly not to one who had nearly blown a hole through his apprentice.

Jaheira shook her head. "No one was unaffected by Dynaheir's actions just now," she muttered as she turned away as footsteps approached them. "But when she returns you will leave her to her friends, as you wish to be left to yours."

Kelddath's voice echoed up from the direction Jaheira had just turned towards: "This is the second major conflict your party has had in my temple in as many days," he intoned tiredly, his eyes shifting to Edwin as he came to stand before them. Kelddath had never felt precisely right about healing the Red Wizard; and was certainly surprised to see he had returned to the party. "Are you set to make a habit of this?"

Jaheira stepped up to him and decided not to ask what the first conflict had been. "No, and you have our apologies for the disturbance, Morninglord. If you have time, I wish to draw your attention to these prisoners we found at the bandit camp."

...

* * *

Khalid and Xan helped Branwen out from her bedroom, but Jaheira had finished speaking to Kelddath by that time, and she shooed the enchanter out from under Branwen's arm. Xan was too short to make for a comfortable crutch, regardless. The elf made sure his Branwen was fine, and then he turned away and walked quietly up before Edwin.

The Thayvian and Imoen had been speaking in Mulhorandi, but they both broke off on his return. The conjurer eyed Xan suspiciously, while Imoen hopped past to see Branwen.

"Edwin," Xan began in a level voice, "Do not mistake the gesture for forgiveness, as I loathe you, but I propose a ceasefire until the party is able to determine what to do with you. Keep your spells to yourself, and I will keep mine; I will work neither enchantment nor violence against you."

"I am too tired to bicker with you over semantics and morality, and so take the gesture with all the disgust with which it was originally intended," the Thyvian snorted. "And as I never had any intention of fighting the party to begin with, your 'ceasefire' is agreed to."

"Branwen!" Imoen cooed. "I heard ya done got yourself trampled by a giant flaming devil horse!"

"Aye, that would be about the size of things, it would!" the cleric agreed, looking curiously at Edwin.

Imoen grinned. "Well, ya made it! So good job not leaving Xan miserable and alone in this world- he totally needed a win!"

Xan straightened up and twitched. Branwen bust out laughing. "Ah, all in a day's work!" the Norheimer grinned. "Eh! Edwin?" The Thayvian looked at her, surprised she had anything to say to him. "I hope you realize she wouldn't _eat _while you were gone."

The comment was so incredibly _Branwen_ that it almost ought to have been expected. Edwin, who had scarcely spoken to the woman outside of a tactical scenario, blinked at her in bewilderment. Then his brow furrowed and he tilted his head to the side on the bewildering suspicion that she had just welcomed him back.

...

* * *

When half the party entered the Jovial Juggler, Edwin and Imoen were the only two people who weren't surprised to see Aegis and Xzar seated across from one another in the back corner with most of the party. Heck, even _Ajantis_ still looked surprised to see necromancer and ranger interacting so peaceably, and he'd _been_ there for a quarter of an hour already. Shar-Teel just looked irritated, and Viconia's expression, though her arms were crossed, was impossible to determine with her hood so low. Of Kivan, there was no sign.

Conversely, Xzar and Aegis were the only two people at the table who didn't look surprised to see Edwin and Imoen walk up. Ajantis wasn't sure whether he ought to be drawing his sword; Shar-Teel held up her hands in a mute 'What the hell?'; and Viconia dropped her arms in startlement with a verbalized: "He's _alive?_" The necromancer just huddled quietly over his cup of tea and his bowl of Fish Heads, and said nothing.

Edwin paused a respectful distance from the table and looked uncertainly to Aegis, who rose as they approached.

Imoen had less uncertainty. Her face was bright as she threw herself into her sister's arms. "Aegy!" she cried. "You're fine! Everyone said you were hurt!"

"I was," Aegis agreed, hugging Imoen clear off the ground. "Not to mention the ulcers _you've_ given me, Immzy."

"I try!" the thief giggled, hugging her sister back exuberantly and kicking playfully at the air.

Aegis grunted. Her gaze shifted to Edwin. After a moment, she set her sister down and slipped past the thief, coming up to loom over the conjurer.

The ranger was almost a full head taller than Edwin which, for a female, had always seemed incredibly unnatural to the conjurer; for he was not accustomed to being shorter than many people. He steadied himself and laced his fingers together in front of him as he looked up at her. "Aegis..." he began diplomatically, but she cut him off with a gesture and her eyes narrowed.

"You," she informed the Thayvian, and she prodded him so sharply in the chest that he winced, "would be in so much more trouble if _this one_," she jerked her thumb back to imply Xzar," hadn't just fucked up so badly."

Edwin frowned, turning his head slightly to the side. "What do you mean...?"

"Well!" she threw her arms up. "As much as the necromancer and I might have entertained the idea of making a nice throw rug from your skinned hide last evening, recent events have made me a little squeamish about gore. Not to mention that, since everyone most likely wants me to kill _him_, I suppose I'll have to be fair and find it in my heart not to murder _you_. Yet."

The conjurer looked straight at her again, his brows furrowing. Xan and several other of the more perceptive party members turned to stare at her. "You _knew_," Edwin realized for all of them.

Aegis scoffed. "You like pretending I'm stupid? She's _my_ sister; I know what she's like. When the facts didn't add up, I suspected something. I wagered you might need a healer but figured Jaheira would be a very difficult woman to impress, so I asked her to take Khalid's place waiting with Imoen. And look: here you are." She stood back and gestured at the whole of him, though her tone was still very bitter. "Well. You must have been _very_ convincing."

Edwin took in a slow breath through the nose and then delicately asked: "Did you find out anything behind whom hired the bandits, and why?"

Aegis considered him as she straightened to her full height and crossed her arms over her chest. "Imoen freed some half-elf who said it was the Iron Throne. But the camp was on fire, and we didn't take Khosann or Crush alive."

Edwin nodded and looked to Imoen. "Did you manage to secure the documents I sent you after?"

"Boy did I!" Imoen agreed, reaching up to pull her pack off. "And loads of other stuff, too!" She rummaged around, and then pulled out a thick brown portfolio stuffed full of paper.

Aegis turned to look at her sister in surprise as several party members stood and came closer to investigate. Frowning, Aegis glanced back at Edwin. The wizard shrugged slightly and confessed: "A thief does a lot of good in the right place." He licked his lips. "So does a bandit killer..."

Aegis whirled and pounced on Edwin like a mountain cat, seizing up fistfuls of the wizard's robes and cloak and lifting him clear off the ground. "Kivan was _maimed_, you crocodilian _BASTARD!" _she snarled at his face. Imoen eeped, tossing the portfolio to Xan and darting hesitantly up beside her angry sister. "He nearly _died_! Almost everyone _nearly_ _died_ because he wasn't _with us_!"

It was fair to say Edwin had never been hoisted off the ground by _anyone_; much less a woman. Color rose in his cheeks, and his talons balled into fists at his sides; but after a moment he took in a steady breath and told her calmly: "Tazok would not have been at the camp even eight hours longer; and I needed a distraction to help me kill the other Red Wizards."

Aegis' eyes narrowed, and before she could continue, he answered her most likely questions,

"If even _one_ of them had escaped, I would have been branded a traitor to my country owed to the nature of my assignment. Thayvians are justifiably paranoid and, had I been communicating with you, I have no doubt I could easily have been discovered and killed by my fellows. That should explain why reversing my decision to leave the party was _not simple_." He hesitated over his next wording.

Imoen leaned back, surprised with her conjurer. Had he rehearsed this? He was actually communicating information instead of indignation! This was a far cry from his socially incompetent approach towards Dynaheir. Then again, he'd handled Kivan in a similar manner after releasing the wild elf. She made a mental note to figure this puzzle out later.

Aegis frowned and squinted at him in uncertain anger. "You led the kidnapping of _two people,_" she reminded him. "And you took them into a den of _killers._"

Edwin's lips pressed together. Whatever he had to say, he thought it would help his case; but he didn't like giving voice to it. "Whose side does it look like I ended up on?" he asked, finally. "Theirs, or yours?"

"Neither. _Yours_, Edwin. As always, we all work on the presumption you are on _your side_," Aegis retorted, her fists tightening on his silks. "Which is why you think you can rationalize your selfishness away because it was _convenient_ for you to throw us a few bones."

"Yet I am also on _her_ side. And she is unfalteringly on _your_ side," Edwin replied so tactfully that it took an Imoen to realize these were the words he'd been struggling over. "I only had so many ways to get out of the situation in which I'd put myself, and I did not have the luxury of _requesting_ help. ...So I did what I knew would work."

Aegis scowled at him but then slowly looked over to their side. Imoen fidgeted, smiling weakly up at her. The sight of the pink thief made Aegis scowl even more, because the ranger knew best of all how 'buttery' her sister could be.

Edwin continued: "Diana, Denak, Brendan, and Lasala would have come for the witch whether I had survived or not. But with a proper distraction, I was uniquely positioned to handle them. I had advised them in what spells to prepare to counter each enemy wizard and cleric, knowing it would leave them vulnerable to me. They were more dangerous than that entire camp; and my tactic let me wipe out all four in the same swing."

"And got you gutted," Aegis retorted, looking back at the conjurer and then abruptly dropping him. "Where is Dynaheir?"

Edwin stumbled as his feet hit the ground and he nearly fell. Then he composed himself and he opened his mouth to speak. Abruptly he seemed to remember something. To her surprise, he looked away, crossed his arms over his chest, and did not answer. There was an awkward silence; then Jaheira laughed despite herself.

"He's been told not to talk to or about her," the druid realized, which earned them all a bemused expression from their leader. "Aegis, there was an altercation at the Song of the Morning."

Aegis twisted about. "Where the _hells_ is Dynaheir?"

"We don't know," Jaheira answered, "she ran off to calm herself down after... essentially, after attacking Imoen. Minsc followed her."

Aegis' eyes widened. She look at Imoen, who winced and shrugged. The ranger's shock turned to an expression of dismay. "I swear, this is like trying to sleep with too small a blanket. No matter what a person tucks in, something else sticks out immediately afterwards."

Aegis heaved an exasperated groan, and then turned a bitter look on Edwin and shook her head. "I hate you," she informed him, stepping back towards the table "Now go buy me a full bottle of the most expensive hard alcohol you can get the bartender to sell you. And yourself some wine, so we can all sit down and eat like civilized people without you ruining the mood."

Edwin hesitated. "That's it? I-"

"No of course _that's not it_," Aegis hissed, spinning back towards him. "I presume you are now in Beregost and in this inn because you wish to rejoin _my_ party? Then you should realize I respect you less than I respect dirt; and that is something you are going to have to _earn _back over a much longer period of time than it took you to lose it!"

She advanced a step on him and continued: "Be advised, Edwin Odesseiron, heir of Surthay; I killed seven hand-picked wizards and tore a high priests's spine out through his front end today in an enraged fit while unarmed and half dead. If you _ever_ even so much as _appear_ to harm my baby sister again, I will _do unspeakable things to you. _AndI _guarantee_ that you do_ not_ know a spell that will stop me fast enough." She pointed at the bar. "Alcohol."

The Red Wizard regarded her for a moment, his expression thoughtful. Then he spread his hands slightly and gave a very slight, surprisingly gracious bow of his head; and he turned away to do as she had bade him.

The fact that Edwin hadn't balked at her tone or offered any form of resistance gave Aegis pause. She watched his back thoughtfully for a moment, confused on how to interpret this. _I'm practically inviting this whole thing to come back and bite me in the ass. _She glanced at Xzar, resentful and still angry. It was to _him_ she would have normally turned for help in interpreting things like that. _Well. __Hopefully not literally this time. _

Aegis shook her head and then turned to the rest of her party. "_No one_ starts up a fight with that Thayvain fool," she informed them. "Unless they want to see me _really, really _cranky. When Dynaheir shows up, tell her to come straight to me." Aegis made to sit down, but then realized Xan was looking at her very patiently, and that he was wearing a grim expression. His gaze slipped pointedly to Xzar, and then returned to her face.

She sighed in a breath. "Yes, Xan?" Xzar lifted his gaze to peer meekly up from his tea.

The enchanter crossed his arms and shook his head. "Do you need me to spell my thoughts out for you in all their dismal lettering?" he asked joylessly. "What we witnessed him do was patently unforgivable. I have long admired your unusual breed of tolerance, my friend. But if you choose to travel with him further, I will lose all faith in your sanity. you would be inviting the worst and most surefire forms of doom upon all of us."

Viconia cleared her throat and stood. "Xan, it's my opinion the necromancer might be geased, or perhaps under some other subtle enchantment. He won't explain what happened clearly, but he is repeatedly using the oddly specific term 'obligated' to describe everything about his helping the Cyrites. Ordinarily we could suppose he was saying he would have gotten in trouble had he failed to conduct his duties, but given his frazzled nature..."

Aegis added: "He's got an odd relationship with words, and the precise definition of 'obligated' is something like 'to be compelled by someone to perform a legal or moral duty.' I'm not much for understanding magic spells, but Viccy says its possible his compliance wasn't voluntary."

Xan grimaced, his eyes flicking back to Xzar in disgust. Then his expression smoothed out slightly and he gave a nod. "Very well. I will prepare for a thorough examination, then," he sighed. "As the last place I'd like to go, unshielded, is particularly deep into that particular head." Xzar winced and looked sadly down at his food. "That said, I do not have much of a stomach at the moment, and I do not believe I want to share a table with either him _or_ Edwin. I will go prepare the appropriate spells."

As the enchanter turned to leave, Aegis leaned her elbow on the table and her hand on her wrist. She shook her head and sighed. Before he could get far, she called out: "So you're just going to leave your starving and injured girlfriend down here with _both_ of them at the table then, then?"

Xan paused. Branwen laughed and waved a hand dismissively. "I'm fine. If an evil wizard bothers me, I'll just conveniently mistake 'im for roast chicken and eat 'im," the Norheimer winked. Then she winced when everyone tensed. "Woops, there goes my mouth, running away from me... Sorry, Aegis..."

Shar-Teel gave a large and unexpected sigh. "I hate wizards," she announced, exasperated. "I hate _men_. I hate _male wizards_."

Viconia rolled her eyes and moved to take a seat. "You and the Amnite really do have a lot in common then."

"Oh shut_ up," _the fightress growled irritably, drawing out her dagger to sharpen it. "Just really unimpressed with all these decent women picking lousy fuck toys right now.

"The hells do _you_ look so good, by the way?" Branwen complained of Aegis. "I was injured o'er a day ago and can still barely walk. Didn't something just happen to you? How in the name of Valkur's strapping buttox are you up on your feet already?"

"I'm secretly half dwarf," Aegis informed Branwen as Xan returned silently to the table and took the seat beside his cleric. "It's replaced my half-halflingness. Also, Viconia did all the real work. I should probably figure out a suitable means of thanking her, but I don't know what kind of present one might give to a Viconia which wouldn't put my stomach to rolling."

"Hmm, well I could attempt to make a palatable request," Viconia mused wryly, eyeing her cup thoughtfully. "Let's see. 'I could use better wine.' How was that, too evil?"

Aegis looked at Viconia a moment. Then she looked to Jaheira. "Will my largely elvish family disown me if I adopt her? I'm pretty sure we'll get Ajantis in the deal; that balances it out, right?"

Viconia stiffened slightly and then muttered: "Well you could also find me a male for the evening." Viconia was largely incapable of doing anything right without summarily sabotaging herself.

Fortunately, Imoen had an answer with which to diffuse the awkwardness of her words by making them, well, even more awkward. "Edwin!" she hollered playfully. "Viconia's putting out a request for sex! Do you have anything to say?"

The conjurer was returning to them with several bottles; and he raised a brow, first at Imoen, and then at the bitterly scowling drow. A wolfish smile spread over his face and his eyes shuttered. "Dark flower, I am afraid I shall have to respectfully withhold my proposal on this one evening only," he apologized smugly, "as the thought of a bath and a full night's sleep have, regretfully, eclipsed the seductive power of even _your_ husky purrs."

The drow lifted her head, and her face screwed up first in incredulity as she tried to process what she had just heard. Then a heated fury rose up in her cheeks. Edwin, who had never previously gotten the better of the drow, winked. Viconia broke out in an onslaught of drow invective.

When Edwin didn't bat an eyelash at the tirade and Aegis cracked up laughing into the palms of her hands, Imoen concluded that things might actually turn out okay. Depending on whether Aegis went crazy, or how calm Dyn was when she returned... Hmm. But then the pink thief looked over at Xzar, however, who was still crumpled up in his seat and sneaking sad glances up at her and Xan.

_The lord of murder shall perish..._

Imoen shook her head to clear it.

...

* * *

_[Still 20 years earlier]_

_"Where have you been...?" Jaheira whispered._

_Gorion swallowed, not sure what to tell her._

_"Here?" Jaheira wondered, stepping hesitantly towards him. "The whole time... the whole time we believed you were dead, you were actually... just... _here_...?"_

_"No," Gorion knew the answer to that question, "I only came here some months ago, seeking shelter."_

_Jaheira shook her head. "From what?"_

_Gorion looked to his shoulder. "From-" He jumped slightly upon finding Khalid directly beside him. The half-elf was peering curiously at Aegis. Gorion wasn't aware Khalid could be that quiet, and he was so startled he threw his opposite arm reflexively across Aegis, shielding her._

_Khalid docked his head to the side, craning over so he could still look at her._

_"Gorion," Jaheira protested, "what _happened_?"_

_Khalid looked up at her as if she had two heads. He held out his palms and gestured to the tiny person on Gorion's shoulders, and announced: "This is a _baby._"_

_The blunt proclamation, which Khalid had previously believed ought to have been obvious, nevertheless seemed to knock both his wife and Gorion off balance. Khalid looked at both of them in bewilderment. Then he looked back at Aegis. When no one said anything, he cleared his throat nervously and hesitated out:_

_"Well... well can I hold her?"_

_The way Gorion shrunk back from him as if taking a defensive stance was certainly bewildering. Yes, a defensive stance; that was exactly how he stood. Khalid perked up and frowned, confused._

_"Don't take it to heart," Khelben called as he returned with floating cups of roasted chicory. One of the beverages hovered into Jaheira's hand as he passed. "No one gets to hold that baby. Except Gorion. You have hardly been individually excluded from her cuddles."_

_Gorion turned a glower onto Khelben, who smiled almost mischievously and offered him a cup. In Celestial, he told the younger wizard: "This is for your own good." Gorion glowered worse. Khelben winked and left the cup floating there as he passed another to Khalid. _

_The half-elf frowned at the offered beverage. Khelben raised a brow. Khalid looked up at him. "Pardon, I don't mean to be rude... but if I accept that cup, one of my arms will be occupied. And then I am quite sure I will not get to hold the baby on technicality."_

_"Your determination is commendable," the archwizard informed him with a smirk as he turned away. "But even I haven't been permitted to touch that child." He moved past Jaheira and up towards one of his enchanted windows to enjoy his own cup._

_Gorion glared daggers after Khelben for a moment. Briefly the younger wizard caught sight of Jaheira and then, unwilling to face her just yet, he turned to spite made him act. He sucked in a deep breath past the flurries and butterflies in his stomach. Then he stepped closer to the half-elf, scooped an arm under Aegis' little tush, and turned the baby gently around._

_Khalid's entire face let up._

_"Be ginger," Gorion requested in a small voice, "she has a diaper rash."_

_Khalid's entire face lit up. He hopped forward to meet Gorion halfway, and then he reached forward carefully to take the infant. He held her as he had seen Gorion hold her; and it came so naturally to him it was if he had been holding children all his life. "Well hello!" he exclaimed softly, peering curiously down into the girl's perplexed, stormy blue eyes. Her forehead puckered, and her eyebrows were little wrinkled brown noodles as she tried to determine precisely what to do with him._

_Peering out into the illusory 'scenery' his window afforded, Khelben rolled his eyes. 'At least you've gotten predictable with parenthood,' he thought wryly._

_Gorion kept a watchful eye on them. As much as his trust had been worn raw of late, it was Aegis herself who concerned him most because he did not know what strange things she might do if startled or fearful. As he watched her, he rubbed gingerly over his arm, where the cut from a belt knife had not yet fully healed._

_But then Aegis smiled. One of her contagious, excited, half-moon-eyes smiles. By Khalid's face, the lords of heaven might as well have stepped down and knighted him. It was love at first sight for half-elf and half-god. Aegis gave a delighted sound, and twisted about to catch sight of Gorion. Upon seeing he was not far, she gave a happy wiggle and squealed._

_Gorion heaved a big sigh, and decided it was safe to say: "Be careful; she bites."_

_"Does she have teeth?" Khalid wondered, bouncing Aegis up a little higher to peer at her face. She turned back to look at him excitedly. _

_"No. But that doesn't dissuade her from biting," Gorion advised. _

_Jaheira stepped slowly up to them. Gorion turned back to her, and she looked between him and the child. But before she could say anything, Khelben abruptly interjected: _

_"Well! It appears you've finally found an excellent babysitter. And if I was not mistaken, you were just about to ask me to watch Aegis for the very first time so that you could buy rash ointment. Perhaps now that you have an expert on herbal preparations on hand, you should employ her expertise and head out together?"_

_The death-glare that Gorion shot at the Chosen of Mystra's back had Tallix cracking up in laughter- right up until a god-baby found her red beetle where it had climbed up to peek over Khalid's shoulder._

_"Hit the dirt!" The halfling exclaimed in alarm as grubby little fingers pounced upon the bug with startling speed. It was no use. Tallix tossed her hood off and pressed a hand over her heart in a salute. "Well I think that's game, little fella. If it matters ta ye, I'll promise to hold ye a memorial."_

_"What's that you found?" Khalid laughed in nervous surprise. He'd never been much fond of large insects, and the notion that one had been hitchhiking on him from outside made him feel a little green. "A cicada-?"_

_Tallix cringed at the adorable sight of oncoming Death: "Ooh that's gonna hurt."_

_Aegis bit the bug's head off with a big, juicy crunch._

...

* * *

[Author's note]

spider hissed up at Xan excitedly and the enchanter's eyes widened. Before anyone else could react, there was a long six-inch skinning knife pinning the creature to the table. Xan turned a shade of green. "I'm..." Xan whimpered. "I'm going to..." Branwen lunged out of her chair, grabbing hold of Xan as he swooned backward.

2\. They heard a high-pitched effeminate shriek and turned to their lefts. Shar-Teel raised a brow at their gazes and then pointed to where Xan was gaping in open-mouthed horror into the darkness. Ahead of him and heading up into the ceiling was a cluster of four enormous spiders, peering curiously down at the party with their unblinking eyes. Xan staggered backwards, and then his eyes rolled up in his head and he hit the ground hard.

3\. "I say we kill them all, cook them for dinner, burn their webs, and search the ashes for valuables," Viconia announced, casting some blessings on herself as she prepared for battle. "Who is with me?"

4\. Khalid laughed in nervous surprise. He'd never been much fond of large insects.

Fond of large insects...

Fond of Large Insects...

FOND OF LARGE INSECTS...

...


	9. Opening Doors

The continuation of flashback-Jaheira having WORDS with flashback-Gorion about dissappearing and totally appearing to be dead. Little does she know how special a certain baby is...

...

* * *

**Opening Doors**

...

* * *

_"You are ignoring me," Jaheira realized as Gorion paid for the herbal preparation he required._

_The mage looked up at the accusation, but as usual there was a guarded looked in his eyes that suggested he would tell her nothing._

_"Do my entreaties fall on deaf ears; are we no longer friends now that this great unknown event has transpired?" she wondered, not bothering to hide the pain and frustration in her voice. _

_"It is not that," he responded quietly, internally cursing Khelben for doing this to him. "I am not ignoring you. I have cut myself off from everything-"_

_"Including me!" she exclaimed. "What have I done to be excluded by you? How have I lost my place in your confidence? What has happened to you? I have known you since we were babes!"_

_Gorion grimaced. That last, alone, seemed to give him pause. It was somehow different from the entreaties he'd grown numb to. He looked guiltily down at his bundle of purchases._

_For a moment Jaheira thought of how haggard he looked. She had never known Gorion to wear anything more than a tasteful goatee, or let his hair grow to more than a few inches. Now he featured a full beard he clearly did not trim, and the silver trails of his hair draped lightly over the tops of his shoulders. Even his feathers looked ill-kempt, as if he had not pulled out broken or shed ones, or in fact done anything to take care of himself at all. His robes were cleanly washed and pressed, but old stains suggested a concerning loss of pride in himself._

_"I am afraid to even approach you," she murmured heartbrokenly at last. "I watched you shy from Khalid- Khalid!- as if you thought he would attack you."_

_Blue eyes looked up to her. Then he took in a slow breath and straightened upward, gesturing. "Walk with me," he requested quietly. "If in silence... until I determine what to say...?"_

_Jaheira watched him for a moment. She doubted he'd be earnest, given that much time to think. Still... it was something. She nodded, and then accompanied him off into the Waterdhavian gardens and tree-lined streets. And, indeed, he was quiet for quite some time. It was at least fifteen minutes of navigating the winding roads near Mount Waterdeep before he lifted his head._

_"The last time you saw me," he told her, "I told you I had lost much."_

_Jaheira nodded, though she would have expected herself to be the first person Gorion would come to for comfort. _

_"Of my work, and of what I had been attempting to accomplish, I will tell you nothing. But these were not our average adventures. Suffice to say, I became embroiled in divine happenings- and in the process, I lost everything. Everything but the last tattered fragments of my soul. For a substantial period of time, I might have been commandeered as the cleric of an evil god. I say 'might' because in retrospect I was hallucinating so badly and serving as such a nexus for dark magic, that I honestly don't know what was real and what was fairytale."_

_She stared at him, and blessed be the gods that she was silent, or else he might have lacked the strength to continue._

_"I lost all my sense of self; all my personal confidence and power; I am a broken man, Jaheira. And being near you is painful, because you know exactly whom I was. And I... I can't be him. I need an incredible amount of space and solitude and silence. I don't need anyone's comfort. I need... numbness. I need to air every wound so they do not become necrotic, and yet have no one touch them. I need to be alone."_

_Jaheira lifted a hand as if to touch his shoulder but then, at his words, she withheld it. Then she took in a long and shuddering breath, and instead of asking questions, she tried to focus on what he seemed to feel. "If you seek a place for rejuvenation, Gorion..." she hesitated. "You can always come back to the Tethyrian Forest... I know no better place to find one's spirit again than along the banks of _ Swanmay's Glade_."_

_Gorion swallowed. He seemed to think about the question, but then he shook his head."I prefer the quiet of a library to the life of a forest right now. And I do not want to be around many who know my name."_

_"Gorion-!"_

_"It's not safe!" he snapped, glaring at her. She winced, confused. He faltered a little at seeing her hurt expression, and he took a deep breath. "It... It will never be safe. I would have stayed in complete isolation," he added, "but I realized inevitably I would be found and that I would be helpless to stand my ground. I fear the Chosens of Mystra; but at the same time, I needed a rock at which to anchor my ship. I will stay in Waterdeep."_

_"Fear them?"_

_Gorion shuddered. "That one day they will take her from me. Judge me compromised and unfit to keep her, or..."_

_"The... the baby?" she struggled to keep up._

_Gorion fell silent. _

_"Who is she? Where did she come from?"_

_"It doesn't matter anymore. I have her now. She is my daughter, her name is Aegis, and that is all that should matter to anyone."_

_Jaheira swallowed. "Your penance?" she asked._

_The mage winced and swallowed. " After she- after I was forced to kill- Jaheira, Chai is dead. And the gods- Oghma- Oghma brought me to Aegis. __I am alive because I found her. I would die before surrendering her to anyone.__"_

_"Then hold fast to your friends, Gorion!" she begged him. "Did you not see how Khalid's face came alight at the sight of the babe? Do you think he would deprive you of your own child? Let us help you!"_

_"Jaheira, no, no-"_

_"Come back with us to the northern woodlands and we shall make a home there for you to recover at! You do not have to do this alone, in such isolation; your friends would help you raise her!"_

_"Jaheira, stop! I'm not-"_

_"A wizard's tower is no place to bring up a babe! Bring her to the druids, to the same sheltering boughs and warm arms that reared us! Bring her back home, to the elves and druids, to the beauty of the natural world and the good folk who make their homes there! In such places there will be children her own age with whom she may grow in affection as you did, and mentors for any pursuit she could ima-"_

_"JAHEIRA!" he whirled on her with a vicious snarl and shook her violently, ice crackling out from where he was standing and along her bracers where he was touching her._

_Her eyes widened in surprise. So did his._

_Gorion stumbled backwards, loosing her arms and looking with fear and dismay at what he had done. "J-jaheira- I-"_

_"It... you didn't hurt me," she tried to sooth the aasimar, hurrying forward to try and hug and reassure him._

_"Don't _touch_ me!" he shouted in alarm, jumped back. Jaheira came up short, pain rising in her eyes. "Don't touch me! Just- No. No, Jaheira. NO. I stay in Waterdeep for now- until I have made careful analysis of what my next step is to be!- and I will do this, all of this, alone. Alone! Does that register with you!? I do not want your help! I will not take your help; I REFUSE your help!" He voice rose, and he was shaking._

_Jaheira drew back, her brows furrowing together. "Gorion, please, do not shut me out like this-"_

_"Do not stay in Waterdeep, Jaheira," he commanded. "I will not see you. I refuse to. I will not, and cannot accept your help. I must-"_

_She staggered a step backwards, and he winced. Grief lined his face. This was agony._

_But he was still feeding Aegis his own blood; and if anyone ever found out, no matter how much they loved him, he was going to end up losing her one way or another. There were certain risks and desperations only a parent could understand._

_"I love you like a sister, Jaheira," he told her, his voice dropping almost to a whisper. "But this is something I must figure out... alone. For now."_

_A long and painful silence stretched between. Them Jaheira stood straight, balling her fists at her sides. She gave a curt nod. "I understand," she said, although she did not. "Then... I bid you farewell for now, Gorion. And... and goodluck with your daughter."_

_She turned then, and spikes of sadness bloomed up through his body with every rapid step she took away from him. _

_..._

* * *

_Gorion stood alone in the garden where Jaheira had left him. He waited until he could no longer hear even the ghosts of her footsteps. Then he slumped forward and looked miserably down at his fingertips._

_"I'm sorry," he whispered, pressing his palms to his face and threading the fingertips through his hair. Then he clutched his shoulders, feeling wretched. "I'm so sorry. One day you will know. One day you will understand, because you will realize what she is, and that I still love her, and that everyone we've ever known would have killed her out of fear and love and pity... That everything I did, I did to keep her safe."_

_A voice came down from overhead, ornery, "Oh and ye think piling on a mountain or two of angst is going to be the wee lass's saving grace, do ye?"_

_Gorion's entire body seized up, his eyes going wide. Adrenaline flew down his body, cresting from the top of his head out through his fingertips. _

_"Ye gotta be kiddin' me lad. Boo. Booooo! That's right: I done booed ya. The druid's yer best friend in the world, ye frazzled bundle of feathers! Ye get her right back here and apologize or summat!_

_The magus whirled around, looking from tree to tree and from shadow to shadow, searching for a sign of the halfling. Ice crackled out from where he was standing, and the Weave whispered under his fingertips. "You!" he spat, "are not welcome here!""_

_"Ye've got the wrong halfling!" she shouted back to him. "I'm Mi, some other fella's Yu!"_

_The hair on the back of his neck was erect. He backed up slowly towards the exit of the garden. "Get out of Waterdeep!" he shrieked._

_A tap came at his back. He yelped out a rush fo Draconic, spinning around only to find a knife directly at his face, with the tip resting upon his lips._

_A devilish little halfling peered smugly up at him from scarcely an inch away from his person, her wraithlike cloak shielding all but her toothy smile and the gleam of one good eye. "Boo," she said. _

_He looked shaking from her to the knife. "I would die to you in a heartbeat before aiding any design of yours or your master's," he said in a surprisingly low voice after all that screaming. "Kill me or leave."_

_"Ye should be careful how quickly you offer those sorts of alternatives, given your history with a god who likes blood sacrifice," Tallix suggested, flicking her dagger back to push her hood aside an inch with the tip._

_Gorion's fingers twitched, but before he could utter more than a single syllable, she had once more redirected her blade. She tapped his lips with the flat._

_"Hush, Lad, ye got a kid to go home to and ye've not the luxury of dying." __He stared at her, seeming wide-eyed, enraged, grim, and terrified all at once. "Now, dump that sand outta yer ears and listen up, cause I'm only gonna be able ta say this once afore it's too late to matter: The half-elves made some enemies with coin, and the trouble caught up with them 'round Calimport. Now the duo's got a young fella outta Darkhold keep who's good with poison waitin' for them at the tavern. Jaheira's head's in a tizzy and she's not got her hubby ta back her up, so I'm guessin' if she makes it through those doors she'll never get past her second shot of the hard stuff. Ye ken?"  
_

_The Harper staggered slightly to the side, his face drawing into a tight frown. "Y-you... Do you honestly believe I would drop my guard for you- you!- for a second?! For one friendly-sounding overture!? What is this!?"_

_"This is ye goin' insane, lad," she told him frankly. "Ye've more reason than anyone in the world ta be scared silly of yer own shadow, but doin' such won't help ye at all. There's a point where paranoia'll damn ye faster than naivety would, and if you go past it then you'll never save anyone. Ye need ta flail and claw yer way back out of yer own helplessness, or this game's already lost."_

_"Game," he hissed, his lip curling and his arms shaking. _

_"I like ye lad, so I'mma give ye one more little boost, short and elderly though I am. Chew this over: There's only one o' two things that could be waitin' for ye at that tavern I just mentioned; and both o' them are women. If she's a brunette, she'll die if ye don't go. And if she's blonde, well, ye already know her willes better than any man yet living by this point, don't ye? Sorta makes ye the expert in dodging them darts."_

_"You- you wretched- This is for your- for his- _AMUSEMENT_!?" he shrieked down at her in fury._

_"Nae, lad. This is cause I like ye. Or I think I might like ye; nae quite sure yet. And if ye think 'he' knows where to find ye just cause I do, well, ye need ta ask ole Blackstaff a lil' more about what bein' Chosen means, or start paying attention to how often Elminster gives Lady Magic the middle finger and does whatever the fuck he bloody wants to..."_

_She retracted her dagger, and in the same motion drew out a gray orb._

_He threw out words of draconic but, before he could manage so much as a magic missile, she had vanished in a burst of smoke. Even as he finished up the draconic chant, he found his magic could not find his target; the halfling was gone. He dropped the spell. His fingers clenched, and his whole body shook violently as he looked around._

_The emotion was too great: it built up within him in a surge. "TALLIX!" he screamed at last, his voice raw with hatred and confusion. There was nothing in the world which could have provoked any man's self-doubt in quite the same way as the appearance of a Chosen assassin who could lie more convincingly than most men could report on present weather conditions._

_No one answered him. He stood there, looking around himself._

_Then his eyes settled on one road._

_"J-jaheira," he whispered, and he took off into the city._

_..._

* * *

Xan was silent as he slowly set up the wards which would help give him mental focus and protection before he settled down to examine the necromancer's condition. They were using one of the inn's noble suites for extra floor space.

Branwen was already in bed. Shar-Teel had muttered something uncouth before swaggering off to find male company for the night. Edwin and Imoen had each gone to clean up. Jaheira, who had never ended up covered in anyone's offal, declined to bathe yet; she and Khalid were there to see what might be discovered about the party Zhent. Ajantis and Viconia were each also present.

And then of course there was Aegis. She had settled on the edge of the bed and placed Xzar in her lap and, while they waited for Xan to finish, she checked the bandages on the necromancer's fingers.

Which was bothering the elf. His sneer grew and grew until finally he had to say something: "How can you _mother_ him like that after what has happened?" he asked.

Aegis shrugged. She seemed much calmer after imbibing over a quart of the inn's best whisky, but she'd walked up to the room without any signs to suggest she might be feeling tipsy. "One way or another, he _did_ just save my life."

"He was participating in that ritual!" Xan exclaimed, throwing down his chalk. "He did nothing to help you, even as we burst in through the doors!"

"Aegis recalled he'd fed a potion through a vein in her leg that jump-started her rage," Viconia interrupted. "On waking, she extracted from him that it had been a potion of Cloud Giant's Strength."

Xan's thin brows furrowed, and he looked hesitantly up at them.

Khalid cleared his throat. "T-that sounds unnecessarily c-complicated. Like a m-man exploiting a l-loophole."

"So he in fact may have been juking a geas," Jaheira sighed, rubbing her face. "I see now."

"Exactly," Viconia agreed. "The jaluk did nothing to help her progress but he also did nothing to hinder it, and he threw up almost immediately afterwards. That does not sound like voluntary compliance."

"And if I remember back," Aegis added, "I think he was trying to warn me, but couldn't say anything. At the Song of the Morning, he was asking me if I could read minds, and then he mumbled something about everything being up to him. I didn't catch it at the time; I was too tired."

Xzar said nothing in defense of himself. He looked to be shaking. After a moment, he breathed in sharply and asked: "Xan, H-how did you find the room?"

The enchanter frowned; he no longer liked his name on the necromancer's tongue. He was quiet a long moment and then said, quietly: "Pretzels was scratching at the door."

Xzar perked up and stared at his glowering face in amazement. Then a wondrous smile quirked over his lips, and he chuckled out a fond and slightly painful-sounding laugh. "I love cats," he sighed, and then an intense look overcame his face as if he were steeling himself for something. "Ae, Moaratuk, I _couldn't_-" His face turned gray and he suddenly doubled over, clutching at his stomach. The ranger jumped in alarm, and grabbed his sides to keep him from falling over.

Viconia scowled and uncrossed her arms. "Unless he's acting, he's geased," she reported. "Perhaps we do not need the enchanter after all; if he keeps struggling against it, he'll soon begin bleeding internally, and then we will know the truth of things well enough."

Aegis straightened in alarm. She sat forward and scooped up the writhing necromancer, and carried him swiftly up to where Xan was. "Please," the ranger requested gently. She hesitated and then knelt down before the diminutive elf with her writhing companion still in arm.

Xan shook his head. "Aegis, Imoen has something to tell you about meeting Montaron on the road leading north from Beregost, just before the bandit assault."

Aegis frowned, surprised, her gaze shifting back and forth as she digested this. "Xzar mentioned Montaron," she recalled.

"Imoen called Xzar a Deathstalker," Xan uttered meaningfully. The necromancer twitched, wincing past the aftershocks of his convulsion. Aegis stared down at the enchanter, and at how willingly it seemed he would now spill out her secret. Then she took in a slow breath and shook her head.

"He _is_. I already knew that, Xan."

"You knew?" he breathed. "Like you knew about the Thayvian? And yet you aren't concerned! Perhaps everyone deserves to-"

She felt Xzar tense and quickly interrupted Xan: "I was concerned when I first realized it. _Months_ ago. Xzar and I talk almost every evening, for hours, turning over difficult topics from every letter of the alphabet. I'm not the brightest candle the gods ever put I the realms but I'm not blind, either, or suicidal."

"Why should it comfort me that your closest confidence is a madman!? We trust you with our lives, Aegis! All of us! Do we not all deserve to know the liberties you take, not only with your own safety but also with ours, as a function of trusting a Deathstalker!?"

Xzar hissed miserably, clinging to the back of his ranger's neck and pressing his other hand over his face. His condition appeared to be worsening, and Aegis was suddenly struck by the concern that, even in indirectly exposing himself, the necromancer had incurred magical retribution.

"Well can we at least find out the truth before assigning blame?" the ranger blurted as she looked worriedly over her lover. "Why are you so eager to condemn when we don't even have complete information?" she looked back to the petite elf, confused. "It's not _like_ you. _Everyone_ can see there's a decent chance he did everything he _could_ do, given his circumstances!"

Xan grimaced. "That was _Edwin's_ argument," he spat.

Aegis wasn't the one who answered him: "Yes, and Edwin just threw himself in between Imoen and a Lightning Bolt, putting even _his_ damnation into question," Jaheira retorted, earning a number of startled looks. "At the very least, we need the necromancer's tongue loosened so we can question him on the topic of who exactly is after Aegis and _why; _and we can compel no answers from him without your help."

The enchanter shook his head in vexation and disbelief. Then he scooped up his broken chalk and went back to finalizing his wards.

...

* * *

Imoen had already had a little bit too much wine by the time Edwin got back downstairs from his bath. The inn had transitioned into a loud and festive atmosphere come evening, largely owed to the defeat of the bandit camp. Imoen was up on the stage, singing and dancing with quite a number of enthusiastic persons. Her damp hair suggested she had had indeed bathed, even if she hadn't taken any time to enjoy it.

A lack of clean silks meant Edwin had again been relegated to wearing cheaply purchased cottons, but for once he scarcely noticed the uncomfortable textiles. He was clean, and he no longer reeked; and cleanliness was a glorious sensation after trudging about in the stains of one's own intestinal juices for days.

When he spotted Imoen he raised a brow at the thief and wondered how many dancers had lost their purses that evening. Then he shook his head and found an unoccupied booth to rest and be alone at that he might kick up his feet and read. He needed another glass of wine and wanted to have proper _defensive_ spells prepared. Adrenaline, perhaps, had kept him from eating much at the party's awkwardly quiet dinner; but presently a bowl of soup sounded reasonable. All of those things he could have brought up to his room, of course; but Imoen lacked his paranoia.

And Dynaheir was still out there somewhere.

When someone abruptly invaded Edwin's booth, he nearly jumped in surprise. _How did!? _Then he realized it was Kivan, and he winced in anticipation.

Kivan settled down a heavy bowl of stew, and the presence of food seemed to suggest Edwin was not about to be arrowed to death. The ranger had found a straight longbow somewhere, along with an unfamiliar quiver of arrows. As he sat, the elf scooped up his spoon with thumb and ring finger, and leaned his elbows on the table. He ate his first heaping bite of food, and then fixed the Thayvian with a dark and pointed stare.

Edwin looked down at the elf's hands, and then up at his face. A brief silence stretched between them. Then the only thing Edwin could think to ask was: "Did you kill him?"

Kivan grunted past food.

"Er... good... good job?" he hazarded, off balance. Kivan had not been there to hear Aegis setting the rules for the conjurer's return. Most likely the archer had not even known he was _alive_. Was there any danger?

What was one supposed to say to a man about successfully completing his life's quest for vengeance? Edwin was honestly surprised Kivan had _survived_; didn't elves have an uncanny ability to die at dramatically appropriate times? Admittedly, his survival had helped Edwin's case tremendously, and the elf was an excellent fighter. The Thayvian wasn't complaining...

Kivan said nothing, narrowed his eyes, chewed, swallowed, and scooped up another spoonful.

Edwin tapped his nails awkwardly together. A long moment stretched in silence. The conjurer fidgeted. Then he blurted: "Well, naturally, I will pay for the repair of your hands."

Kivan said nothing. He chewed and swallowed.

Edwin grimaced, disturbed by the stoic if mentally unstable bowman. Men without vices were _dangerous_. The conjurer looked around and then rubbed the back of his head, where hair was already beginning to grow. He scowled slightly. Shaving was a losing battle on the road. His hair was simply thicker and grew much faster than- Abruptly something occurred to Edwin and he stiffened. His gaze flit to the longbow.

"Where is the Blacksun?" he asked abruptly.

Kivan blinked.

"The Blacksun. _The Sun Awakened to Emptiness?_ Imoen's Bowstaff!" Edwin tried to jog the elf's memory.

Kivan straightened and his green eyes widened.

Edwin stared at the archer for a moment. Then he leaned back in his seat, digesting this. "You lost her ancient family heirloom?" he asked with a delicate wince.

Kivan remained quiet for a long moment. Then he swallowed his food and rasped: "Equip me. We'll call it even."

Edwin nodded and sighed, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hand and flip through his spellbook. "That I can do," he agreed. Best if they got the bowstaff back before Imoen realized it was missing. If anyone could be relatively safe creeping of into the wilderness for a day to pick through the ashes of a razed bandit camp, it was Kivan.

A laugh drew the conjurer's attention, and he looked to where Imoen was enjoying the dance platform.

...

* * *

Imoen ended up dancing for another hour before finally allowing a comely young caravan guard lead her up to the bar. She liked his demeanor and so settled in to chat, and he bought her the wine she asked for.

Truth be told she was already dizzy, but the drink was comforting. To say the day had been stressful would have been an understatement; and she still had to help Ae figure out a lot of stuff in the morning once Xzar's condition was better understood!

Anyway, the guard was adorable. And the flirting was just starting to get delightfully, blush-worthily lewd when Imoen felt clawed fingers settle on her shoulder. She perked up in surprise, and looked lazily behind her.

"Why! Hellllo, Dragon...!" she purred.

The guard frowned. "May I help you?" the man asked.

"No and by the looks of you, I doubt you'll be much use to her either," the conjurer mused, leaning near to Imoen to speak near her ear. "May I compel an hour of study out of you, apprentice? Or are you going to overlook my return and dance the night away whilst the rest of the party broods?"

"Well _somebody_ has to be having _some_ fun!" she squawked. Then she giggled and leaned her head back slightly. "Fireballs?"

Edwin eyed her flatly. "Kwefai, were the sun itself to go out, I still would not teach you to cast such explosive magic at this pitiable juncture in your magicking career. You lack the discipline for it."

"D'awww, you're no fun," she snickered. "Well I think sooommmebody needs ta have a drink with me... before his grumpy-grumpness runs off on him, and I need to go find an Alora ta fix things!"

Edwin couldn't help a sudden expression of amusement; he'd never seen Imoen tipsy before. He noticed the guard was starting to get irritable, and decided to kill two birds with one stone: "Very well. Shall I seduce you back to our bedroom with wine, then?" he inquired. Imoen perked up; The guard stiffened in dismay. _Yes, yes, that's it, slink off you unimportant little dalliance._ "What would you like? A thirteen-twenty-one rose or white Neverwinter vintage?"

Imoen squinted. "It's like you _know_ me...!" she sounded boggled. "Okay. The rose. And I wanna learn somethin' mighty neat-like, kay?"

The guard still looked ready to intervene. "Well... I _suppose_ I could teach you a spell thrust..." he enunciated clearly so his words weren't missed. The guard withdrew in posture, looking incredibly put-out. _Finally. Annoying. It seems that was sufficient._

"Booorrinnnngggg," she sighed dramatically, but she stumbled up out of her chair with a: "Woopsiedaisies-!" Edwin caught her shoulder in surprise. She spun about, snickering, as he steadied her shoulders. "Oh, hi again!"

"I am suddenly of the suspicion you may have consumed too much alcohol this evening, O Buoyant One."

"Naaawwwwww, (snerk)!" she chortled. "I'm fiiiinnnneee. Really!"

Well it looked like there would be little studying that evening, but then in that case he ought to get her to bed before she hurt herself. He decided to purchase the wine bottle anyway; he'd use it like a carrot.

"Heyyy," Imoen remembered the guard. "I'm real sorry." The man waved a hand to tell her it was nothing, but she managed to muster up her coordination enough to lean over and kiss his cheek. She left a innocently charmed glow in his face, and he waved her bashfully off. "Some other time!"

Edwin presented her with the wine and she squeaked happily and hopped after him. The conjurer shook his head and led her along. He took her elbow to help her up the stairs once it was clear how unsteady she was.

"I have a question, waif," he asked as they ascended. "You mentioned your birthday was this month?"

"Ayup! The tweeelfth of Uuuktar!" she sang.

He raised a brow. It was earlier than he had hoped. "Such a precise date?"

"Ways I figured me Da knew who my real parents were..." Imoen sighed dramatically, and nearly stumbled over in so doing. He caught her and cautioned her to be careful. "Hey, hey_ Dragon_, when's your birthday? Yer mum-"

"Kwefai." She had dared to bring up that-which-ought-not-to-be-mentioned.

"-called you 'summer child'."

He sighed. "My birth certificate reads that I was born on the first of Eleasias." Imoen looked at him with an expectant smile, apparently still sober enough to press annoying questions. "I was most likely born Midsummer night, if you must know."

Her expression turned to one of dismay. "_Darn._ I don't think I got you a cake."

It was safe to say that Edwin had never coddled a drunk person even once before in his life, so the absurdity of this conversation was, in all ways, novel for him. But then Imoen was very disarming. "Is that what people do for birthdays in this country? Eat cake? I see why you would be insistent on celebrating_ yours_, then."

"And presents," she lamented. "Wait, they don't _eat_ those, they- hee! Eating presents, that's silly..."

The Thayvian couldn't help himself; he had a smile twitching at his lips. "I believe I own a cloak of Protection from Fire dated to late summer," he recalled mock-thoughtfully.

"Wow! That's right! It's like I told the future!" she was amazed.

"Yes... It's... exactly like that. Except with the past. And a vaguer coincidence than one would typically expect of an astrologist's sooths..."

"Hey! Hey Edwin, you won't forget my birthday, right? Like... like there will be cake, right?" She squinted and gesticulated, and looked something like a sarcastic tactician confirming a strangely-worded field report.

The Red Wizard continued humoring her: "Well, eh, I am positive your _sister_ will not forget your birthday, seeing as it seems to mean so much to you, and that there will be utterly unnecessary quantities of bright, pink cake. In fact, it might even be glamoured by an elvish enchanter to feature_ rainbows_," he gestured for emphasis, "and illusions of dancing unicorns."

"Oh yeaaahhhh..." she remembered as he unlocked the door and gently guided her through. "I have a _sister_!"

"Yes, you do. And now I think it is bedtime for you, little monkey," he mused as he shut the door for the evening.

"Yeah you're probably right," she yawned and then jumped to attention and spun about. "Wait! No! You promised me wine and study time, I remember!" she accused him.

He covered a laugh. "Oh I think you have had _quite_ enough wine this evening, Purple Monkey. But I'll tell you what: you may study until you've fallen asleep, and then I'll give you the rose wine in the morning so that you may do as you please with it. How does that sound?"

"Well... uh... I guess that sounds fair," she admitted. "I _am_ pretty floaty. The good kind, though!"

"I can see that," he confirmed for her, his mouth a wide smile.

She nodded and reached behind her to unstrap her armor. Then she recalled the complex lacing. "Um. Wait... Can you... can you help me?"

He was grinning, and he gave up trying to hide it. "Exactly how many drinks did you _have_, Kwefai?" he chuckled as he turned her about and assisted her.

"Hmm," she considered with a very serious expression. "I think I'm currently at the 'escaping death-by-halfling-vagina by climbing out a latrine room window and levitating up to my room' level of tipsy..."

The conjurer laughed. "That bad, eh?" he queried. "Well! Hold on for a moment, then. I think you are going to need help with your shoes at that rate."

"How many _feet_ do I have?"

Well, even when everyone else was miserable and falling apart, it seemed Imoen was quite intent on somehow making the best of things.

...

* * *

Viconia stepped out of the inn to get some air. She was still organizing her thoughts on both the way Aegis had handled Xzar and Edwin.

She hadn't spoken a word to Ajantis all day. All she knew was that when she'd awoken, the paladin had been sitting against the bed, curled up with his chin on his arm and his face near her own. She'd _expected_ him to turn away from her, and to harden his heart against further damage. Instead, he had come even _closer_.

That was not a reaction she understood.

She glanced up at the inn, and then decided to go for a walk to enjoy the evening . She wouldn't travel far; not with the potential for danger so high. But perhaps about the inn would suffice; so she headed down from the steps and started off at a slow pace to encircle the building.

And, yes, when that grew boring, she headed down the road. Beregost was well lit on the path to the Jovial Juggler.

Viconia had lived centuries below the earth in a climate of assassination, paranoia, and darkness. Even after departing Lolth's favor and finding Shar, Viconia had known over a hundred years of self-sufficiency; and she had survived from day to day on little more than her ruthlessness, her honed reflexes, and the Nightsinger's whispers.

"Drow." Needless to say, that Kivan had somehow slipped up unnoticed behind her was _terrifying_.

Viconia grabbed for her enchanted flail and spun around in alarm. It's possible that she screamed, though she wasn't sure; but if so, it was surely a cry of wrath.

The wild-elf was standing just a pace behind her, and his green eyed narrowed at the sight of a weapon. Despite also being elfin, Kivan was much taller and heavier than her, and his height permitted him to loom over her. She backed up from him, her teeth clenched.

It took her a moment for her to realize that he did not have his longbow out; nor was he likely capable of using a knife to much effect with his fingers so mutilated.

Viconia hesitated. She lowered her flail an inch, her jaws loosening as she eyed him up and down. "Darthiir," she echoed his greeting warily.

It looked like there was nothing she could do to prevent Kivan from narrowing his eyes further at her; the sound of drow certainly had him glaring. Much more of this, and he'd be blinded by excessive squinting. When he didn't speak, she straightened slightly.

"Is there something you wanted?" she asked, glaring up at him with all of her considerable and matronly inches. But Kivan was still much taller as he glared. The wolfish beast must have been at least a full six feet in height! It was a wonder he could even be called an elf!

After a moment, he inclined his head to the side, and gestured to his hair. "Why." It was a demand.

Viconia scowled. She hadn't expected this conversation; who in all the planes of the Abyss would have expected Kivan to come up and _talk_ to her? Not that 'talking' entailed very much from Kivan. Words flowed up over her tongue, but abruptly she was caught by the sensation that she ought to consider her response more carefully. Kivan was unstable on a good day.

She took in a slow, steadying breath, and then looked away from him. "Because you were clearly in pain," she answered.

"And?"

"There _is_ no 'and,' surfacer," she growled bitterly. "I am a healer. An ally was in pain."

"You are a _cleric_," he corrected with a hiss.

She glared at him and huffed a sound of disgust. Then she looked away again. "Believe what you will. I have nothing to say to you, Darthirr. Stand away from me; I have no quarrel with you, and I do not trust your intentions for a moment."

That was what made him angry. He advanced a step on her, and Viconia dropped immediately into a defensive stance. "Do not think to come out here and think I will not gladly kill you!" she screamed."You or _anyone_ else I need to in order to survive! Consequences be damned!"

A woman's voice came up from somewhere behind her: "That is precisely what concerns me."

Viconia looked around in surprise as Officer Vai stepped out from a side street. She had three men with her, and one of them whistled. Men hurried down the roads and slipped out of the tree line encircling the town.

"How-?!" Viconia sputtered, turning to find a direction to flee in. Flashes of light burst up around her, and then Flaming Fist Warmages had closed all percievable gaps.

"Viconia DeVir," Vai called. "You are under arrest for multiple counts of murder."

"What!?" the drow exclaimed.

"If you come quietly, your allies may have the opportunity to speak on your behalf. If you resist, my men may be forced to put an end to your life in their attempt to capture you."

Viconia staggered backward in disbelief. Then she looked up at Kivan. "Y-you... I did nothing wrong. I did nothing wrong! I _healed_ her, you ungrateful cur! I _healed _your precious 'mell-'!"

"You _will_ come with us, Viconia," Vai insisted, waving her men cautiously forward.

"As if I would get a fair trial from any of you!" the drow shouted. "I know now what you blame me for; and you are _fools_!"

"You as good as admit to it, then," Vai retorted. "You murdered four people. Bandits may have finished the farmer off, but our divinations show that yours was the hand to kill his wife, and two bodies are still unaccounted for. Where did you dispose of the children, Viconia? What unholy ceremony did you-"

"I put the rivvil out of her misery after two hobgoblins had fucked her hips to sludge and I'd expended all my healing to fight the bastards away from her eight year old daughter!" the drow shrieked at the top of her lungs. "I took the children to their aunt an uncle at a farmstead to the northeast of Beregost!"

Vai hesitated, but then resumed her stoic expression. "If your story is true, then you have n-"

Kivan advanced on Viconia where she had backed up into a house. She whipped her flail about, but he caught the chain in his remaining fingers and pulled the weapon from her startled hand. She drew a knife with a shriek and then her eyes widened as the Wild Elf knelt and seized hold of her legs by the ankles.

He stood, pulling her up and then boosting her overhead and onto the roof edge. She scrambled at the shingles as shouts rippled up behind her, and spells went rocketing past her head in the gloom. One hit her, and by luck her natural resistance managed to reflect it.

"Move," Kivan growled as he swung himself up beside her.

Viconia didn't need to be told twice.

...

* * *

The sound of Xan reentering their bedroom roused Branwen, who lifted her head up to see the Everskan gently shutting the door behind him.

He was in a _mood_. It read in every line of his body, from the stiff and curled way he held his overall postured, to the tiny details like his lowered ears and twitching fingers. There was a bottle of wine dangling from his fingers, and he settled it on a table as he passed.

He walked to the center of the noble suite and, to her surprise, he drew his Moonblade and held it at ready.

There were few things as pretty, Branwen thought, as Xan going through a well-balanced swordsmanship routine. He handled the weapon with skill and grace, and his movements were far more coordinated than she'd once imagined was possible from a wizard. Branwen had always found it odd that Xan was self-conscious about his bond to the Moonblade; as if he felt he didn't deserve it.

She waited.

He practiced in a tightly controlled area of their room for well over a half hour. In fact, Branwen might have dozed slightly in watching him, she was so comfortable. She was awake when he finished and paused to sheathe the blade; and she sat up as he moved to retrieve his wine.

"Ah," he murmured. "I'm sorry if I woke you."

She waved a hand to absolve him, scooting up against her pillows so they could keep her propped upright with minimal effort. "What did you find?"

Xan frowned and said nothing for a moment. Then he completed retrieval of the wine and came up to sit on the side of the bed. His head was someplace else.

"Are you okay?" she asked worriedly

"I am contemplating how to answer your earlier question concisely," Xan replied as he considered the day's events: _Aegis still won't tell them the truth... Does she really fear her own godmother and godfather, her 'auntie and uncle'? It's Xzar's doing either way._

"Was he geased?" she wondered

"They will be taking him to Kelddath in the morning. Aegis is trying to keep him calm for the evening."

"I'm guessing he was a right mess, then, if you and Viconia couldn't fix it all on your own?"

Xan took a sip of wine, and then took in a slow and shuddering breath. "The interior of that man's mind is a smoked and decaying ruins, in a swamp, in the most dismal underground cavern imaginable, on some wretched and forsaken plane of chaos and entropy. It is populated by invaders, cysts, roiling collections of disembodied syllables, and smoky ghosts. I've never seen anything so diseased in my life; nothing mental and certainly nothing corporeal. And I was lucky to have prepared ahead of time, because I needed to go deep in order to find all the fish hooks."

Branwen was quiet a moment. "Well, he manages well for all that, now doesn't he?" she pointed out, and Xan thought she was like a bright light in a stormy fog. "I mean if that's what my head looked like, I think I'd be dead."

Xan shuddered, but when Branwen reached out to place a hand on his shoulder he shied subtly from her touch.

"Xan?" she wondered

"To... T-today has been long with dark thoughts," he whispered. He was silent for a moment, looking at his wine bottle. Then he quivered down to the roots of his diaphragm as he sucked in a hard breath. "I want you to do something for me," he forced out. Kivan's words were fresh on his mind. What if he never got another chance? What if-?

Branwen slowly eased her legs out of the bed. "I'm listening, wee man," she reassured him, gentle and slightly amused by his anxiety. "What do you need?"

"I want you to push me," he replied, his voice sounding strangely hollow and deep. "I want you to do something that will seem strange. Grotesque, even. And horribly, horribly morbid. Because I desperately need to tell you about something, and there are some memories which cannot be visited while sane..."

Branwen's eyes widened. _You are letting me in?_

All of a sudden, Branwen wasn't sure she ought to let him.

...

* * *

[Author's Note]

The next chapter is going to specifically be M-rated for intense grimace-inducing Angst/Hurt and Healing. The whole chapter will feel like a steadily worsening train wreck.

And then things will be okay. Drunk Imoen totally promises you; and Tallix agrees.


	10. Seeking Absolution

**Two parts of this chapter are rated "Unpleasant M"** If you wish to skip them, they are the one in which Xan gives the name of his fellow Graycloak, and the section immediately after it (both are towards the end). If you wish, you may skip them and go on to the very last section, which begins with: "I know none of these answers."

...

* * *

_**Seeking Absolution**_

...

* * *

_Jaheira was struggling to control her feelings as she struggled into the tavern and took a seat at the bar. Her body and mind each felt heavy. Heavy and shaken._

_"Something ye need?" the tender asked._

_"A... A Mermaid." When was the last time she'd ordered a shot of anything? A long time._

_"Mixed?"_

_She shook her head._

_The bar tender could see she was in quite a spot of trouble. Her drink arrived shortly, and she brought it trembling to her mouth._

_"Jaheira!" the voice sliced across the tavern._

_The druid nearly leaped out of her chair, and she certainly spilled a small measure of her shot. She turned about with rapidly blinking surprise, and then recoiled when Gorion, of all people, was suddenly at her side. He grabbed the drink from her._

_"Detect poison!"the wizard hissed._

_"What!?" she sputtered, half laughing, half crying._

_"Jaheira. Detect poison. Now."_

_Her brows furrowed. She looked from him to the drink and then, with a trust and synergy born from years of companionship, she quickly called on her powers. In her enhanced vision, the drink began to glow with an unearthly, whirling black._

_Her lips parted. She looked quickly towards the bar tender. Gorion recognized the change in her expression, and he groaned. "That's impossible," she whispered. "The drink came straight to me and I know-"_

_The tender was nowhere to be seen._

_Her eyes widened and she looked to Gorion, whose face was a mask of pain. "How the devil did you-?"_

_"Lucky guess," he muttered, standing upright as he contemplated the glass. "Well then. Come. Let us see if our friends can't identify where this came from, or whom."_

_"Gorion," Jaheira exclaimed, her voice thick as she grabbed his arm. This man had just chased her sobbing from a city garden, and she needed some sort of explanation. "What just happened?"_

_"I don't know," he admitted. "But if a wretched little nightingale is to be believed, you contracted an assassin in Calimport. Sound familiar?"_

_Jaheira hesitated. Then she cursed loudly and stood. "The traveler in Tethyr!" she hissed. "I knew it when he tried to join our camp!"_

_Gorion grimaced. Not one but two separate assassins had followed Jaheira up from Calimport. In a contest between the one who was trying to poison Jaheira and the one who had herded her safely for hundreds of miles, Gorion knew exactly which killer he ought to fear more._

_Tallix Snapdragon, Chosen of Bhaal and Zhent assassin, was in Waterdeep._

...

* * *

Hardly more than fourteen hours ago, Xzar and eight other people had been eating the flesh from Aegis' bones.

And yet there Aegis was, settling him down on the sheets in her own bed for the evening as he twitched and winced. He was in pain and curled up with his back facing her. His skin was chilled yet sweaty, and he was clearly physically ill. Kelddath would have the easiest time countering this at dawn, when his own deity was the strongest.

And it was going to be expensive, despite Viconia and Xan's preliminary work.

Aegis stepped away to get some warm water. She returned and sat herself down beside the necromancer to dab his forehead and face. She cleaned up the old greasepaint while she was at it.

"Ae," he whispered feebly at her attentions.

"Don't talk, Xzar," she told him. "You've spit up enough blood for the day. Yours and mine, come to think of it."

He winced.

Aegis sighed heavily. She had so many questions, and so many angry things to shout, and all of them were going to have to wait. The word 'obliged,' innocent as it might have been, had put the necromancer in a terrible amount of trouble with whatever spellwork had been levied on him. He'd been fine before saying it; except that everyone in the entire party had been eager to execute him.

"Do I disgust you?" he asked her.

"I said not to talk," she muttered, turning away from him in an effort to discourage him.

"You know now... that some of the bleaker things I've said to you... were not... eccentric ramblings..." he whispered. "That I have previously-"

"I don't want to listen to this," she replied sharply. "And I'm concerned you're going to walk into hurting yourself worse."

He swallowed. "You know, by what they asked of me, that I must have done it before."

"Xzar." This topic was off-limits.

The necromancer frowned, and did not roll over to look at her. "Ae... do you remember the vision you painted of an approved-sources-only necromancer lab?" he asked.

Aegis grimaced and looked down at the floor, resting her forearms on her knees.

"I'd never heard anyone do that: Spin an idea like that, or mean it." He wet his lips. "_I_ couldn't have. But when you did... I _wanted_ it."

She looked at her hands and particularly at her fingertips. They were whole now, but they'd been gnawed down to ebony-colored bones just that morning. _Black. Black as the gods of death. Black as Myrkul, Black as Bhaal, Black as Jergal. Black as Cyric. _

"Do... do you believe me...?"

She lifted her head. "Do I believe what? That you want to compromise? That you want my approval? That you don't want to be a flesh eating monster anymore- at least not while I'm looking?"

The necromancer was quiet.

Aegis considered. "Wanting to be a better person doesn't make you one." She ran her fingers against one another, and then leaned over and picked up a mewing Pretzels. "Admittedly, it's a start." She turned and deposited the kitten beside the wizard. "You should sleep."

...

* * *

Branwen slowly eased her legs out of the bed. "I'm listening, wee man," she reassured Xan, gently and slightly amused by his anxiety. "What'ere you need?"

"I want you to push me," he replied, his voice sounding strangely hollow and deep. "I want you to do something that will seem strange. Grotesque, even. And horribly, horribly morbid. Because I desperately need to tell you about something, and there are some memories which cannot be visited while sane..."

Branwen's eyes widened. _You are letting me in?_

All of a sudden, Branwen wasn't sure she ought to let him. She hesitated for a moment, disturbed by the topic transition. That Xzar's condition should make Xan open up to her was unnerving in what it must have signified. Her brows furrowed.

_Mullahey, I curse your remains to a thousand agonies in the frozen depths of the coldest planes of the Abyss. What else have you done to 'im?_

Then she took in a deep breath and steeled herself. When Xan picked to lower walls, he typically showed up with metaphorical siege engines and did not back down until the job was done. If his mind was made up on this, the only thing Branwen could really do was encourage him.

"Branwen?" her elf asked weakly, and she realized she'd been quiet for a moment. The Norheimer shook her head and laughed before scooting up beside him. It wasn't usually her dish to think too much!

"You've a strange relationship request?" she asked him incredulously as she joined his side. She leaned down to catch his eyes with her hers, and his expression put her heart through a wringer. Xan looked positively haunted, he did. She lifted a hand to grasp his chin and also thumbed across his pointed nose once in playful affection. "You? No, I don't believe it; ain't possible, 'tisn't." she announced.

The elf blinked and then a weak, almost-smile twitched across his thin lips. She brushed her knuckles gently over his cheek and chuckled.

"There you go, there's the Xan I know. I knew he was in there. Well, I'm here, too," she reassured him adoringly. "For whate'er you need."

"Oh..." he murmured and then sighed heavily. When she eased an arm around him, he straightened up and scooted closer to her. "You... you may not be saying that in a moment, Nildoen'nin." She kissed his hairline and nuzzled gently at his temple and cheek.

"You're my wizard," she whispered to him. "My dainty, saucy, elegant little wizard. Where you go, I follow. What'ere you need, I give."

He tilted his head back and looked up at her as if his heart ached. Then he turned his body and leaned heavily into her shoulder in pursuit of comfort. Branwen snuck a hand under his leg and pulled him sideways into her lap. She straightened upright that she might sit comfortably and hug him at the same time. "Bran..." He closed his eyes and for a moment, rubbing his face into her chest and focusing on her.

"You alright?" she asked, petting over his shoulder and back. "I'm listening for that 'strange relationship request' you mentioned."

He sucked in a hard breath. "I-I... Forgive me. I want you to... to pretend... to take me from behind."

_That_ got her attention. She leaned back and looked at him incredulously. "Eh, but- How? I don't have... " Her brows furrowed as it sunk in exactly what he had just said to her. "Are you _mad, _elf?" she sputtered. He didn't immediately respond. "You know, I lived with men who dove into ice water for sport in the dead of winter, and I am still pretty sure the thing you just said there? Yeah, that was the craziest thing I've ever heard in all me life. Honest to goodness."

"I know!" he exclaimed angrily, opening his eyes and curling his fingers through the air. Branwen frowned and the elf grimaced, his voice softening: "I-I know... But there is a method to my madness! Bare with my admittedly gloomy mind as I attempt to breathe out the reason of this. You are much... bigger than me; you are... relatively the same size as a half orc. But you are... you are my friend. And... And I trust you so..."

"You honestly want me to mimic _raping_ you?" she disbelieved loudly. Sometimes, Xan was _stupid_.

"No! No not mimic-! But... but... th-the..." his considerable vocabulary momentarily failed him. "I-I... the goal w-would be to evoke a sense of complete v-vulnerability and then to not exploit it-" he muttered hastily. "The goal would be to overwrite dismal, t-traumatized muscle memory with something b-brighter. To provoke the lowest of the memories, to let me speak of them, to let them out-!"

Branwen pulled him into a tight hug, smothering his words and thoughts momentarily to protect him from everything, including his own anxiety. Her fingers smoothed up and down his shoulder and the side of his neck and head as she brushed against his ears. He shuddered.

"Gods. Branwen. I trust you," he croaked. "Seldarine, so fleetingly I have known you, but I trust you_ utterly_."

"Then don't go shoot yourself in the foot with your own fool crossbow!" she chastised him. "No more of this sort of talk, lad!"

"Please, Nildoen-nin. Do this for me," he groaned. "I may never have the strength to ask again-"

"You're too hard on yourself, trying too hard to be strong sometimes wee man," Branwen told him, and she hugged him tighter and smothered her face into his hair. "Sometimes it's okay just to be hurtin' for a bit while you catch your breath; or to learn to swim the slow way. Not everything needs to be immediate, efficient, and perfect. Look at me; I'm still not recovered! Jealous as hell of Aegis, but, eh..."

"I want to be whole," he begged her to understand. "And this is a poisoned wound that will not otherwise heal!"

"Aye, who doesn't want to be well and whole? But you don't have to be, certainly not right off the bat. I... you know I'll be tender for you regardless; You can go slow as you please."

"Three hundred years?" the elf asked.

"Well... three years?"

He shivered. "I can do this. I can endure this. I-I must. Please."

The Norheimer shook her head into his hair as she cuddled him. When she spoke next, his world momentarily burst apart into starbursts. She must have been saving such words for an important occasion:

"Ni melanye tyén," she told him.

"Melinye," he corrected immediately, and then looked horrified and startled. His mouth continued almost of its own volition: "'Melan' would be aorist, not present tense, and who taught you to say something like that in elvish?"

"Kivan did," she answered and this surprised Xan as he would have expected Imoen or Aegis. Kivan and 'language' were not frequently associated with one another. When had she even spoken to him? Before the kidnapping? After, some time? While Xan had been unconscious? The blonde continued her explanation: "And he specifically wrote 'melanye.' M-e-l-a-n-y-e. With an 'a.' He even had me practice, he did, since I don't speak Elvish. Or, eh, _read_ anything very well, if I'm fully honest about the matter."

The elf lifted his head, though he could not hope glimpse her with her face tucked into his hair. To stress the 'a' in melan implied a form of timelessness. The aortist tense was used to make statements about the natural existence of the universe, like 'horses love to eat grass,' and not singular proclamations. In this context, Melanye was nearly grammatically incorrect; at best, it meant, 'I have loved you, I love you, and I will always love you.'

"He told me I had to be very specific in how I wanted to say it," Branwen continue to tell his hair matter-of-factly. "And that there were a good hundred ways of saying 'love' otherwise."

Xan shook his head, overwhelmed. The weight of his fears were coming back in on top of him. In a very tight voice, he managed: "I suppose Kivan is a bit of a romantic from one angle. With a lens. And perhaps some tinting..."

Branwen laughed. "You're a bit daft a'times, my wizard, for a man with as many brains as you have."

He couldn't take this. He writhed for a moment and she frowned, pulling back a little.

"Xan?" She realized he looked _desperate_. The frown tugged lower at her face.

He tried to stop himself, but now that he had crossed this threshold it did not seem he could step back. "I... I... _B-Branwen!_" he almost cried. No, he did cry. Tears were working up on his face. Her eyes widened. "Branwen, Branwen, please help me; I_ need_ this thing I have asked you for...!"

"Just talk to me!" she implored him, stroking helplessly over his temple and jawline.

"I-I _can't_-!" he sputtered miserably, clawing at his hair. He wanted to _dissolve_. This was misery; this was hell.

"Course ye can!" she protested. "I'm right here holding you! Nothing's going to be happening to you here-!"

"No! What happened to me... What I-... No... I.." He raked his own hair into a right mess."I-I need you to _push_ me. I need you to frighten me! Branwen, I am an enchanter- all I have is my _mind _and, on reflection, this wound is deeper even than I've been willing to admit. There is a hole; an illness; a weak scale; a dead muscle; a-"

"Wee man, I am not playing the part of your rapist; that's a foolish notion from top to bottom," she growled protectively.

"I need you to!" he begged with all himself. "Branwen, I am going _mad_. Slowly, day by day, piece by piece-!"

She grimaced. "Have you even thought this through? What do you want Xan, for me to tie your arms up, and stuff you against the headboard and make to fuck you?"

His eyes widened in horror. She was still covered in bandages; but she was so much stronger than he. He clutched his wine bottle tightly.

"And then what? Your skin already crawls without your say-so! That's not something you ever, ever need to go through again. I won't do it!"

He stared at her, haunted. His mouth was dry. After a long moment, he swallowed and shook his head. In a very broken voice, he told her: "There are memories one cannot revisit while sane. And these... these I _must air_ or they will slowly drive me off a cliff. Please. Help me do this. Somehow?"

She bit her lip and tried to think. "Not while sane...? How... how about while drunk?" she suggested.

He swallowed. A moment passed in silence as he contemplating the weight of the wine bottle in his hands and stared frightened up at his Norheimer. Then he took in a slow, deep breath and nodded. "I'll try," he whispered. "I... I will cast a spell to curb emotions first. And then... then, perhaps, with lowered inhibitions..."

...

* * *

Xan was under the effect of _Calm Emotions_.

She let him drink a significant percentage of the whole bottle. Slowly, with some food from their packs. She held him bridal style in her lap and arms the whole while. He seemed calm, with his legs draped over her one arm and his temple pillowed against her collar. The neck of the bottle dangled from his fingertips

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Tired," he responded, and his voice still sounded quite sober.

"Do you remember what you wanted to say to me, then?" she asked.

The elf smiled sadly. "Yes," he decided. "It is a long and multi-chaptered story. And the ending becomes steadily more and more disturbing. To the point where I would surmise anyone with ears to hear it would nightmare afterwards. Are... are you sure you want to know?"

"I'm sure I do," she told him.

"Very well then. Let me think. It starts innocently enough. It is about elves.

"You see, young elves love... freely. Curiously. They spend... a longer time between childhood and adulthood than humans. Many years. They do not have the same taboos. They share innocent love more expressively."

She tilted her head to the side.

"As they experiment they learn things. They learn their own sense of taste; or how to make love sweet and long; or how to love platonically but with fierce intimacy. Some may learn their preferences are slightly nebulous."

She was surprised at how this story had started. He _had_ to be talking about himself though, she reasoned; which meant he was bringing up his own sexuality. "What sort of preferences?"

"Well, on occasion... an elf might learn that he does not experience _romantic_ interests very often. That he... rarely even looks at women or notices their feminine attributes... It takes him a... a lot longer... a lot more time... before he begins to notice when _any_ given member of the opposite gender is... well, is _attractive_..."

Branwen tried to follow what he meant. Was he describing a low libido? That didn't seem to match. It sounded more like he was describing aloofness, or obliviousness.

"Now," Xan continued with a sigh, "this elf may find he does indeed have an underlying preference for the female gender on the rare occasions he entertains the notion of a partner... But as a very discouraged person with a great deal of pressure on his shoulders, he might start to realize that he finds... that he finds himself drawn to those rare individuals who make him feel... encouraged.

"And... and here and there, he may realize he is almost more attracted to spirits than specifically to the opposite sex." As her brow furrowed, it occurred to Xan to wonder how good her grasp of euphemisms was. "So... the elf with the aforementioned preferences may _occasionally_ find a charismatic male elf... attractive." He shuddered with uncertainty. "O-or at least the elf might brighten at the thought of furthering their platonic friendship, at least."

Branwen's furrowed brows unkit in sudden understanding. "And you mean you, right?"

He studied the mouth of the bottle with his gaze and his fingertips. "An elf might find himself serving in the Greycloaks alongside a kindred spirit of many years," he suggested. "And something might develop between them. Something small and thus far platonic and largely unexpressed; but warm and gentle in its measure."

Branwen hesitated. She'd never prodded Xan much about his dead shieldmate before. Suddenly the subject seemed incredibly important. "You were particularly close to your dead friend, then, weren't you?"

"That is accurate," the wizard responded quietly.

She mused. "... You know, the first thing it occurred to me to say was: Aha, this finally explains why your so girlish." He tensed slightly. "But then I thought about it a moment longer, and you tend to be at your most masculine when you're feelin' amorous, so... I reckoned I'd better just chalk it up to being a quirky wizard-elf-Xan thing instead."

Of all things, a contented smile spread over Xan's face. He closed his eyes for a moment as if awash in pleasure. He looked up at her for a moment as if in awe and then he closed his eyes again and nuzzled into her collar. "You have a way with words, Branwen," he murmured. "Thank you."

She was surprised. "What do you mean?"

"It is nice not to have one's unique personal characteristics and idiosyncrasies explained away with a hand-wave and the assertion that I am somehow secretly a woman with the wrong equipment."

"_You_ are _not_ a woman!" Branwen laughed. "I've seen you confused or conflicted about a lot of things since I've met you, my saucy wizard; but _this_ was very clearly something you had a handle on. Why, you got irritated right proper with anyone who called you a girl for too long! You weren't indifferent, but you weren't overblown in your reprisal to suggest any real underlying uncertainty, either, so..."

"I'm surprised... " he confessed. "But then, you always were very egalitarian when it came to gender."

"What's that word mean?"

"You were more interested in comparing me as a wizard to soldiers than as a man to women," he mused.

"Well, see, this is actually something I've a sense for," she explained. "Did I ever tell you I'm banished from my homeland?"

Xan straightened a little, with a start. "What?"

"Women can't be clergy on the isles," she explained. "They can fight tooth and nail alongside their menfolk, but they can't be clerics. Of Tempus, or of anyone else. So I know a thing or two about being a misfit myself; being 'wrong' for me gender. When I refused to recant, I was put into exile. Was a confusing mess for the whole family, right was."

"I need to hear more of this story later," he murmured.

"And well you shall! Er. Though, this does leave me to wonder... Are you attracted to...?"

He tilted his head to the side.

"Me, Xan. Are you attracted to _me_?"

His brows lifted. "Yes," he answered, swift and unhesitatingly.

She gave a big and happy sigh. "Well _that's_ a relief! Then I don't suppose I've anything further to say; that about right settles any confusion on the whole matter for me. The lad I'm sweet on does actually like me. Other information: irrelevant." Xan was almost laughing; Branwen made the word simple.

But the story was far from over, and knowledge of what came next made him cold again. "It's... Branwen, my preferences... they were only the prelude to the story."

"Right. Right, that. The Graycloak? The one you went into Nashkel with? You... you had a sort of crush on him, is that what I understand?"

He nodded. Then suddenly he shuddered and lifted the wine bottle to take another sip.

"I'm still listening," she reassured him with a gentle squeeze. "I'm guessing we're getting to the 'morbid' parts?"

"Yes. I'm... I am going to- Branwen, I am going to just _talk_. I am going to tell it start to finish. Quietly. Coldly. Indelicately. The only warning I have left to give you is... is that I am an _enchanter_. My mind is supposed to be the most robust tool I have and, as a result of this story, mine is a disaster. Can... can you wait until the end to say anything? I will lose my nerve if I must answer questions. "

"Aye." She nodded, and she leaned her chin on top of his head. He did not look up at her; He kept his gaze on his wine bottle.

...

* * *

"To... to begin with... My friend... My fellow Graycloak... His name was _Unteriael_.

"We made it quite far into the Nashkel mines. My enchantments were uniquely suited for dealing with the kobolds. Unteriael was skilled with the longsword, shield, and spear. But when we reached Mullahey, I was too slow to act.

"I failed him. I failed us both. The half-orc dominated Unteriael's body and fought me with it. I had... I had numerous opportunities to end the fight. Unteriael fought him for control, and fought hard; and I might have used those openings to... to kill or, if I was lucky, _wound_ my partner. But I kept... I kept hoping my enchantments would prove enough.

"I was a fool.

"Unteriael and I lost to Mullahey's _Mental Domination_. His spell was like being consumed by a book of writhing, flickering shadows; there was no sense to it, and I had never fought a Cyrite before! By the time I was willing to accept my failure to rescue Unteriael's mind, I could no-longer outfight him physically. His body pinned me to the ground with ease, as he was a much better swordsman.

"We were captured by the kobolds and I was brought into the makeshift dungeon in which Imoen originally found me.

"But Mullahey did not immediately release Unteriael from the Mental Domination; instead he took his time to delve through my friend's mind, probing for answers as to whence we had come, and for what purpose. He learned all he could of our strengths and weaknesses. Unteriael had no real defense; the mental plain ought to have been my field to fight in.

"Mullahey must have easily determined that we were close, although I doubt he _needed_ such information to fuel his cruelties. In fact, when he began to interrogate us with more conventional torture, I surmise it was more for his pleasure than out of any expectation we could tell him something useful.

"The worst part of those early days was not the torture. The worst part was that he barely _touched_ me. Instead, he positioned me to watch, and he focused his grotesque skills upon Unteriael instead. He tormented me, day in and day out, with my poor friend's agonizing screams.

"I confessed everything I knew; I had nothing to hide. But obviously it availed us nothing. By the end of the week, that phase of our torment was over. And before I go any farther than that, I feel it is necessary to describe what Cyrites are _like_.

"Cyrites glorify death, the dead, and power over the helpless; Cyric is Bane, Bhaal, and Myrkul combined: Tyranny, Death, and Murder. But it goes much worse than that, because Cyric is not _merely_ a patron of death. He is also _cruel, _and he is most unabashedly _insane_.

"Mullahey _was not sane, _for all that he spoke with remarkable eloquence. He was not sane- not even by the conditions we measure vile people like Montaron or Edwin. The only person you have ever met whose frayed mental condition resembles Mullahey's is Xzar. That knowledge you must keep in mind, or nothing which follows will make sense to you.

"The kobolds brought me into the mess hall, and tied me up to a post. I watched, gagged and helpless, as Mullahey had them string Unteriael up like a carcass in a butcher shop window." Xan took in a deep breath and continued:

"And... they slit him navel to throat and skinned him in front of me. He twitched while it happened; He watched me. But I think he died quickly after that. At least, I pray he did.

"There they butchered him; they butchered him like any pig or cow. Mullahey ordered them to cook the remains. I can still remember the smell. The meat. The... the organs... the gathered the blood for soup. They used almost everything.

"Easily the story could end here, yes?" he sighed. "But it does not. It does not, though obviously it seems like _that_ should be _bad enough_. What must anyone imagine I could say which could somehow make this tale even worse?

"After he had let the kobolds gather their fill, Mullahey took only one part for himself. He took the _fat_. He flayed every piece of fat from the skin, from the bones, from the muscle structure; He gathered all of it, and he rendered it into a small quantity of oil over the fire.

"Afterwards he approached me, unbound me, and dragged away me by the hair. What our party has surmised about his abuse of me is true enough. Yes, Mullahey used me for his pleasure. That, you know. That was not what I needed so much wine to talk about.

"I needed this elaborate setup so that I could explain to you that I am much smaller than Mullahey, and so as not to tear me beyond repair when he entered me, he employed the oil he had rendered from my murdered and butchered sweetheart.

"The things he said to me, as he hurt me... 'Take comfort, he finally did get in you after all!' Not even a single slur or mangled syllable; Mullahey was a very well-spoken half-orc... I... I will describe no more. I'm sure you can imagine it.

"These are the sort of things that orcs, and ogres, and madmen, and particularly _Cyrites_ are capable of. Often for no reason at all.

"And I killed Mullahey for it. I killed him with one, _clean_ thrust of my sword. I didn't ask for anything special to be done with him. I didn't so much as maim him beforehand. I didn't demand the right to hurt him. I didn't slip my mind into his and leave my agony there. I didn't even ask to be the one who killed him- it was only Xzar's abrupt offer which gave me the opportunity.

"I _chose_ not to speak my final oaths in a language Mullahey understood. I _chose _these things... as if doing so could somehow put me _above_ what I had suffered. I drove Khalid's sword through the back of his armor, and I _twisted_, and just like that I had taken my vengeance and in many ways eternally denied it of myself... all in one motion."

...

* * *

"There is a reason I never openly criticized Kivan for being suicidal- or at least, I did not do so frequently. To have lost not only a friend, but a _bondmate_, to such cruelty and torture as a creature like Tazok could inflict... The punishment I suffered was one of intense spiritual violation, but I did not lose one complete half of my _soul_.

"More than I hated Mullahey, I thing I hate Tazok. I wish the ogre had died slowly. My heart aches in sympathy for Kivan; for a level of pain I can scarcely even imagine.

"So when Kivan, of all people, told me I needed to speak with you... To confess these... things to you... I realized that he was right. As an enchanter I feel broken. But as an elf... I...

"As an elf, I have been violated to the core of my being. True, there are many days I feel like myself: pessimistic, but committed and vaguely amused. There are other days where I realize I am rotting inside. That all the coddling in the world cannot erase the diseased _thing_ that bastard put into my soul, or how it eats me.

"I ashamed each and every day I recall how I am not dead; each day I remember praying to the gods to let me _live _even just one more day. I am ashamed of every bite of food I willingly consumed in that hell. And now?

"I understand Kivan, and do not feel strange about him. I even understand Viconia, though she is Drow. Were I face-to-face with another pure-blooded elf, I do not know if I would even _recognize_ myself. I feel so sick, so broken...

"What now? Even if I complete my mission- which is looking once more increasingly unlikely and doomed to failure- how can I ever go back home like this? How can I go back to my family? My superiors? My peers?

"How could I look my brother in the eyes? Embrace my sister? My mother? With this filth in the memory of my skin? How can I embrace an elvish woman, knowing that she is clean of this but that I bring in the violent shame of a half orc upon my flesh?

"And Unteriael _died_. I know his family. He died in front of my, like a rabbit. I can't tell them that. I can't even tell my own family; so how would they understand? What do I say when they want me to move on? They could never understand (and how could I explain?) that I will never forget- never!- his death.

_"That_ memory is seered into my skull, along with scent of savory oil, and blood, and the feeling of dampness slicking up against my thighs.

"How could any of them comprehend my sickness, my pain; and the accentuation of every character trait they originally disliked to see in me? How can I explain to them that I need to be left alone, or that I am hurt, without subjecting them to these images? What do I say when they complain about my dour demeanor?

...

* * *

"I know none of these answers. They are driving me _mad_. But being alone with the questions was _worse_... And I needed to-...

"T-that... That was my unsettling story, Branwen, I thank you for hearing it out in full no matter how disturbing it was.

"I desperately wished to say it _once_. For someone to hear it, _once_. So it exists anywhere but my head. So that anyone can know why truly I am broken. I don't think I could have told it to an elf... I will never tell it to any other person... I'm not sure why I could tell it to _you_... I suppose, perhaps, I hoped you might be less weak-stomached...

"I don't know what else to say. I have nothing to say, I suppose; except that I am sorry for subjecting you to these images and thoughts. I am sorry. For being a burden. For having wounds with no obvious balms, and which will no doubt flare up over and over and over again. For giving you nightmares, I'm sure. But I- I needed someone to hear-

"If this causes you to think differently of me, I will understand..."

Xan's voice faltered. After a moment, he did no more than stare at his bottle quietly. He wasn't sure where to go from there. He wasn't sure if he'd just alienated his dearest friend and confident; the person whom he needed to stay with him _most_. The thought suddenly terrified him, and he wondered why he had not considered it more extensively before starting this doomed exercise.

If he could not trust his own family to look past these things; if he feared their disgust; or feared overburdening their minds with his wounds, then how could he hope a stranger might cope-? But this was _Branwen_. And when had Branwen ever failed to surprise him?

Silence stretched across the room.

It seemed an eternity later when Branwen began to move. She shifted her weight, and then she lifted a hand to the bottle and gently pulled it from her fingers. He looked up at her in surprise as she slowly placed it aside. Her expression was dark and stormy. When the remaining wine was safe, Branwen stood up, carried him around the side of the bed, sat down near the pillows, and then scooted over to about midway across the bed.

She settled him down against the pillow at her side.

Xan swallowed dryly, and did not move. He didn't even turn his head to follow her. Branwen leaned over and reached down to pull up the blankets. She wormed her way down under the covers, and pulled the hem up to their chins. Then she scooped one arm under the back of his neck, and wrapped the other protectively around his shoulder. She nestled up against his side and rested her head upon the pillows beside his brow.

Silence reigned between them once more.

Long, painful silence, as he watched the ceiling.

Branwen didn't make a _sound_.

"Are you going to say anything?" the elf whispered.

Branwen was quiet a moment. Then, in a low and fierce voice which promised death and violence, she told him, "Ni melanye tyén."

_I have loved you. I love you. I will always love you._

He laid there, quiet and numb. The moments passed. Then his breath caught in his throat. A tremble worked through him as he turned towards her in alarm. As the first sobs wracked through him, she dragged him into a full embrace, and squeezed him tightly to her breast.

He cried for well over an hour, until alcohol made exhaustion too hard to fight. Then he slept coiled into his lover, with their limbs intertwined and his face crushed needingly up against her heart.

...

* * *

[Author's Note]

*Gets up on Pulpit* I have a dream... That one day the M rating should be used not for unnecessarily graphic depictions of angst and gore... But instead for the explicit and extremely d'aww-worthy sex scenes that this story so rightly deserves...

One day... one day, my brothers and sisters...

This chapter marks a turning point in dealing with the aftermath of the bandit camp. Next chapter should be brighter...


	11. Parenthood and Salvation

And now we take a brief (By which I mean extraordinarily long) Intermission!

This whole chapter is a series of flashbacks. For ease of readability, I will not put it in italics ;)

...

* * *

_**Parenthood and Salvation**_

...

* * *

"This was no Caleshite Assassin who tried to kill you Jaheira," Khelben concluded, twisting the shot glass in hand as the younger Harpers watched. "I'd pin my money on Zhentish origins."

Gorion frowned and bounced a soothed-bottomed Aegis against his shoulder. _A Zhent_. Jaheira and Khalid conferred over what might have caused them so much trouble.

"He?" The aasimar pressed after a moment because, unless his sanity was beyond salvaging, Tallix was neither male nor a shapeshifter.

"Aye," Khelben agreed, "though there's little enough I can tell about him from there. Some feature or magical protection of his seems to be largely obfuscating his identity from my divinations."

Gorion considered this. The easiest thing to do was of course blame Tallix for setting up the entire situation in an attempt to manipulate him; but to be honest, the hafling's words about madness had shaken him. Now he was thinking twice about the matter.

"Will you help us track him down?" Gorion asked.

Khelben smirked to himself. "Oh, I don't know. This could be quite the bonding exercise for you younglings. Jaheira, Khalid; consider your tavern stay to be on my tab."

The aasimar stiffened and then glowered at the seated archmagus something fierce. Much as he cared about Jaheira, the _last_ thing Gorion wanted was to spend more time near her. Aegis frowned at him, noticing his face.

"Gorion," the druid asked slowly, and he winced at his own thought process. "Who was it that tipped you off so soon after I left the garden...?"

Khelben looked up at Gorion, who heaved an exasperated sigh and shuffled Aegis' weight from one arm to another. "An old nightmare," he muttered. "I will try to figure out what she wants. Please see obsessively to your own safeties. Treat every bump and stranger as suspect."

Khelben raised a brow.

Gorion grimaced and supplied only, "Tallix," by which the archmagus immediately understood the severity of the situation.

...

* * *

It had been a week with no sign of the assassin. Either of them. Scrying had yielded no crumbs, and both were still at large.

Khalid had come to Blackstaff tower an hour past and was watching Aegis so that Gorion could shop for groceries. Bless that man, but Khalid hadn't said a_ word_ to Gorion; sometimes he just had a _sense_ for people. But Tallix's reappearance had put Gorion in a mood, regardless.

This went beyond poisons and assassins; he was being stalked by a god who had staked out a claim on his soul! A god who had put him through hell- who had rap-! Gorion didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think about _any_ of it; and yet Tallix Snapdragon was in Waterdeep.

His brow furrowed as he tried to focus on a butcher shop window. There were fresh quails in stock, he saw; and they looked appetizing enough.

_Tallix *isn't* Bhaal, _his mind abruptly informed him, and he recoiled from the butcher shop with a grimace. Then he had to look away and step off to the side, so as not to impede the paths of busy shoppers. His thoughts flit to Aegis and he felt bile rising in his throat.

_Tallix helped me out of the shadow plane, _he confessed inwardly his most private fears. _But I would be a fool to see that as benevolence. __Does that mean... _He shuddered, _does that mean Bhaal intended for me to have her?_

For a moment, the wizard could not move. He was floored by the enormity of the world and its moral choices; where rearing a child could spell the death of thousands. Then, slowly, fresh memories of his daughter enveloped him: Memories of her smell, of her toys; of her smile and of her tiny fingers and toes. His moment of anxious depression passed, replaced by tightness in his throat.

_It wouldn't matter if he did, Gorion_ concluded at last, and he drew in a slow and painful breath to steady himself._ It is still up to me to save her from him, either way. Damn to the hells his 'intentions.'_

And if he was going to be proactive about this, then he had to know: What was Tallix doing in Waterdeep? Sensibly, he could conclude she had some damning role yet to play with regards to Little Aegis. Yet, Tallix's words had failed to match his expectations.

She'd said:_ "Ye need ta flail and claw yer way back out of yer own helplessness, or this game's already lost." _

Which was humbling, powerful advice; so much so that it had left him cringing. Gorion crossed his arms to bundle up against a sudden chill. He, of all people, knew how well Bhaal could hide the true nature of evil beneath benevolent gestures.

_"I will give you responsibility for the safety of my children;"_ the god had bargained, _"__and you will never again know doubt or confusion." _

Gorion lifted his eyes back to the butcher shop. He studied the quail bodies, and was silent as the Waterdhavian people coursed around him. He felt tired, all of a sudden. Tired, raw, and cold. _My daughter has a taste for sentient blood, _his thoughts turned back to Aegis. _If I turn a blind eye to her abnormalities, I will never figure out how to help her. I need to start forming plans. I need to be unafraid to learn more... _Perhaps the quails had given him an idea.

Abruptly, he felt a tug on his arm. Startled out of his thoughts, Gorion was required to forcibly quash his own magical protections lest he inadvertently harm someone. He twisted about and saw a small boy standing beside him; a street urchin. The boy lifted up a green vial. It _appeared_ to be a potion of Antidote.

"Old Auntie says to keep on your toes!" the boy told him, and the aasimar's eyes widened. "She says he's watching you now, too!"

"Wh-?" the wizard breathed, and his throat felt thick and constricted. The boy smiled, tossed the antidote to him, and then bolted off through the crowd. The wizard snarled in surprise, fumbling with the little vial and then looking around in horror and dismay. There was no sign of Tallix. The wizard stumbled. He looked down at himself, and realized his heart was beating erratically and his tongue felt swollen and immobile. He wasn't sure he could _speak_.

That was the moment he realized neither the dizziness in his head, nor the numbing chill spreading through his limbs had anything to do with his own frustration or anxiety.

The easiest way to kill a wizard was to take him down in silence.

...

* * *

When Gorion barged into Khelben's parlor without warning, he was only momentarily startled to find Elminster present. The guest wizard immediately raised a protection spell against polymorphs. Gorion blinked. "I- Apologies; I did not know you had guests.

"Have you tried knocking?" Khelben suggested dryly. "Instead of barging through like you own the place?"

Elminster chuckled. "Says the Master of the Tower who knows all of its comings and goings and easily could have stopped him. Ah? Gorion? You look- pale..."

It took Gorion a moment to realize the protection-from-polymorphs was a _joke_; and that the last time he'd seen Elminster, squirrels had been involved. "I... I was just nearly killed," the younger harper admitted, leaning in the door frame that he might catch his breath. "Jaheira's assassin thought to pick me off, and... I was surprisingly easy pickings."

Elminster frowned and made to stand, but Khelben was already moving forward to examine the shaken young man. "What did you do!?" Blackstaff scolded, grasping Gorion's chin that he might examine him. "Did you not think to prepare your contingencies for this?!" He examined the aasimar's pupil dilation, temperature, pulse and rate of respiration; and then set to scolding him something foul.

Elminster paused and then and leaned his temple thoughtfully against his staff._ Hmm. The mothering is strong in this one today, _he thought wryly. Then he leaned back and summoned forth his spellbook and a quill. _Well, seeing as he has things under control, I should need to add this to my list of personal reminders, under the heading of T__hings One Should Never Tell Their Best Friend, Entry 101,240: Khelben, I strongly suspect that not-so-very-deep-down, you are in fact becoming a matronly, old hen. _

It was important that he keep track of these things with documentation, after all, lest he forget them. His tongue did have a way of getting ahead of him...

...

* * *

Aegis perked up immediately the moment Gorion entered the room. She looked in his direction and then a big smile broke out over her face, and she went from fussy and pouting to ecstatic and wiggling within the span of three seconds. _The principle of attachment_, Khelben had explained, with some relief, soon after Gorion had brought her to the tower. _She knows exactly who her daddy is, and must check up on his whereabouts every minute or so to feel secure. _

"She absolutely bites," was how Khalid greeted him, and Gorion stiffened. But the half-elf was smiling laughingly.

_She has no teeth,_ the mage reminded himself in relief. _Certainly not sharp ones, not any more. _"Did she maim any of your poor fingers?" he asked aloud, taking the excited baby from her 'uncle'. Aegis immediately grabbed hold of some of his hair, and he kissed her brow.

"She nipped at my _nose_," the half-elf grinned. "Her manners improved after a nappy change."

Aegis _would_ bite at a person's face if she was upset: Lips, cheek, ears, nose; anything was fair game if one was foolish enough to steal a kiss or cuddle when she'd made up her mind to be angry. But she hadn't done it for months, and Gorion was hoping she'd grown past the impulse. "She's a temperamental baby," the magus sighed in agreement. "Thank you Khalid."

...

* * *

Khelben contacted Jaheira as, after the attack, neither magus was comfortable with letting Khalid wander about Waterdeep alone. That the assassin had made a pass at Gorion seemed both unprofessional and uncannily talented, and news of it had darkened the archwizard's expression. He cast some protective magic over the couple as they departed.

Gorion privately hoped his mentor lost faith in their skills and became involved in the matter directly, if only to speed up the process of finding the assassin. Asking Gorion to spend any more time around Jaheira- Jaheira, his childhood sweetheart- when he'd just 'lost' a lover a friend and two children, was its own private form of hell. Jaheira would always have a clear mental image of whom Gorion had been before the Bhaalspawn crisis.

_And what am I now? _he wondered as he settled down Aegis with her favorite doll, and set to perusing his carrying satchel. He examined each article of food carefully for poison, but found nothing. _A paranoid and overprotective father? _

Gorion paused, looking out at nothing. His face crinkled up.

"I am a father," he said aloud, because the words were strange. They sounded even stranger out loud; stranger, but invigorating. A smile tugged its way onto his lips. "I am a father," he repeated.

"Auba!" Aegis agreed.

"_Ada_," Gorion corrected with a mischievous wink at her.

"Debuaua!" she counter-corrected him, and he laughed in spite of all that had happened. He ought to have been dead; and here he was, less than an hour later, laughing. He laughed harder at the realization of it.

_Damn to the hells Tallix Snapdragon. _To admit she'd saved his life was too dangerous a thought; he nHe'd tell Khelben about her interference once Elminster had departed; best not to mention anything that shed a negative light on Aegis' adoption where another Chosen of Mystra could hear. Gorion trusted Khelben, and Khelben alone.

Gorion drew the two quails out of his satchel. Almost instantly, Aegis' attention fixated on him. _Aha. _He moved the birds back and forth, and her eyes tracked them. _I should be taking notes_. _Daughter does not respond to cooked meat; but can immediately identify an animal carcass. _

He decided he might as well prepare dinner, so he started plucking the bird. Then he took a few of the largest feathers, washed them, and came up to her that he might tickle her with the tips of them.

Aegis hesitated a moment, confused. Then she broke out smiling. She dropped her toy and grabbed up the gifts in her tiny fists. She waggled them curiously all over the place and put one of them in her mouth. He smirked and ran one between her toes. She squeaked and then bounced a little and kicked her legs happily.

_I cannot decide if this is morbid or not. She certainly seems to like feathers, but then she is familiar with my own. Perhaps I should consider an experiment to determine if she likes toys made out of animal products such as leather and fur better? _He considered. _Or bone,_ he added with a more solemn expression.

He returned to cooking and Aegis played with her new toys. He plucked the birds washed them, and set to cutting out the giblets. He was aware when she started watching him again, and he knew it was because his hands were covered in fresh juices.

Gorion had found himself unable to wean Aegis even slightly off the taste of his blood. He knew exactly how few parts per ounce she'd settle for before refusing the teat, and he'd been unable to get that number to budge. Much more upsetting than her craving for blood was the evidence she could differentiate between human and animal blood: he'd tried giving her chicken or pork at the beginning of their relationship, and she'd refused both.

But perhaps he'd been going about it the wrong way. Perhaps instead of weaning her off human blood or substituting it outright, he ought to wean her onto a taste for animal blood and then slowly make the exchange?

He paused a moment, leaning on the counter and looking down. _These are morbid thoughts. _

_And? Everything with her will always be morbid._

_A child who drinks human blood will be fighting with murderous instincts all her life; where a child who likes chicken blood can be satisfied by strong soup stock and go unnoticed. _He lifted his head thoughtfully.

_I am not aiming for the appearance of purity; it matters more to leave stable head on her shoulders. _

Gorion picked up the knife again, but it seemed that his thoughts were somewhat distracted. The next time he went to make a cut, he sliced into the tip of his left fore-finger. Aegis stopped giggling.

He snatched back his hand with a curse, and then quickly poured some water with lye that he could wash the wound of uncooked poultry. Small cuts weren't foreign to him; wizards prepared their own spell components after all. He drew up his finger to his mouth and winced. Foolish. Head in the clouds. Scatterbrained.

A bewildered cry jumped up from beside him, and he looked down in surprise to where Aegis was staring at him. Her brows were all wrinkled up in confusion and her face was heated up with red pigment. She hesitated a moment after the first cry, her eyes focused on his face and on the finger he was holding between his lip. Then suddenly she dropped the feathers, lifted her pudgy fingers out towards him, and burst out crying.

_She can tell what happened? _He quickly hurried up beside her and knelt to pick her up under the armpits. She clung to his shoulder for comfort, and then wormed about to try and find the injured hand. When she sniffed audibly at the air, he grimaced. _Can she-? _He rearranged her weight and then hesitantly offered her his injured hand, where beads of fresh blood were forming.

Aegis looked up at his face and then back at the hand. Then she grabbed hold of his fingers, manipulating them up and down and wrinkling her brows anew in frustration. She gulped in air, her face still hot and tears rolling down her cheeks. After wiggling in place for a moment, she tugged his hand forward and put the injured finger into her mouth that she might suck harmlessly on it. She looked positively miserable.

He frowned at her a moment. Then a detail of his near-damnation by Lullorin/Kazgoroth/Bhaal resurfaced in his mind: _"__When you are ready to serve me," _the avatar of the god had told him, _"offer me a sacrifice of blood from your left hand."_

Gorion's eyes widened. He looked around with sudden terror, half expecting the roof to fall in and the walls to come alive with skulls. When nothing happened, he bundled Aegis tightly to his breast.

"That feels much better. Thank you," he whispered meekly to his infant as he gently freed his hand. She clung to his fingertips and then his hair, looking uncertainly up at his face. Her eyes were so trusting: it was if she were seeking explanations for the whole of everything terrible in the world from him. He wished he knew what to tell her as he pulled her adoringly to his shoulder.

Why had she started crying?

...He'd try substituting a few droplets of quail's blood for his own in her formula. Maybe, just maybe, she'd take it.

...

* * *

Sour fruits, Khelben had suggested. Droplets of juice or mashed morsels of pulp; These were the sorts of things babies tended to find enticing on their first adventurous forays into the world of soft foods.

After the quail experiment, he'd found Aegis to be slowly more and more willing to accept mixed additives; and that gave him hope. If Gorion could find a flavor Aegis liked, he wagered he might be able to distract her away from blood entirely.

So out to the market Gorion once more had gone, wrapped in a veil of carefully selected magical protections. _For someone of a paranoid and melancholy disposition who was almost assassinated, _Khelben had noted while checking his wards like a mother might check a child's hat and scarf_, you seem remarkably upbeat this morning. _

And it was true, Gorion supposed: he felt a little more himself that morning. He'd finally hit on an inspiration; he had a goal.

There were plenty of things to try in the marketplace. After he had secured a pheasant for dinner, he browsed the various wares on display and at last found his way into a well-respected little fruit shack in order to appraise a wide variety of apples, pears, cherries, and citrus.

As he felt along the fruits for bruises and ripeness, his head in the clouds, a weathered voice drifted down to him:

"Try the green ones; they're delicious."

All the hair stood up on the back of the aasimar's neck. He lifted his gaze to see a cloaked and armored halfling sitting up in the rafters of the shack, peeling a great apple with one of her many knives.

At the sight of her, Gorion wasn't sure whether to scream, cast, flee, or cry. He stared at her in mute and horrified dismay, his lips parted a fraction of an inch as he tried to digest her presence. A giddy and miserable corner of his mind teasingly wondered if he was hoping she'd prove a figment of his imagination.

"Lad, what's tha face fer? Ain't I been right polite ta ye?"

Her voice shocked some life back into him. His fingers tucked up the underside of his sleeve to touch the secreted haft of a wand. "I do not put elaborate setups beyond your master, and I do not put them beyond you," he growled quietly. "Get out of Waterdeep. _Now_."

"Suppose ye got a point." She shifted her position and he realized she had a crossbow bolt sticking out of her shoulder. If it bothered her, she didn't show it. "But nae need ta get yer skirts in a bundle; I were just sayin' hello."

Gorion's eye twitched. He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a commotion outside and the sounds of hoof beats riding pass. He didn't look back as the shop owner and many other people headed out a few paces to see what all the hubbub was about. Gorion didn't turn, but his eyes narrowed at the halfling.

She noticed the attention and he saw the gleam of her teeth beneath the hood as she flashed a grin. "Dinnae think this means I'm slowin' down," she chastised him preemptively with a shrug of her injured shoulder. "Was a spot o' luck is all. Plus I took the job a little spontaneously-like; not enough time to prepare every contingency. Was a nice challenge."

"Tallix," the wizard growled in a low croak. "Who."

She chuckled. "Well, let's just say: if you miss him, you _really_ need better ears to the ground. Leave me to my breakfast lad!" she admonished, taking a chomp of the apple and then talking with her mouth full: "First bite I've had to eat yet today!"

His brows lifted in incredulity and anger. "Leave you to your- _What?" _there was almost nothing to say to such an absurd demand. "You expect me to- to- to what? To turn around, buy my groceries, and just _leave_?"

"It'd be kind o' ye," she agreed. "Though I suppose if ye raise up a shout, I'll just slip out."

"And if I freeze you where you sit!?" he sputtered, his shoulders quivering with anger.

"Ain't lived this long n' failed to figured out how one dodges a wizard or spots a wand," she said through her apple. "Though in the event I end up making a dramatic exit, please accept me apologies if I poke yer hands through with somethin' sharp."

Gorion stared at her for a moment, livid and thrown off-balance. When he could speak, it was only to point out something which ought to have been obvious: "You are _stalking_ me. What is your game!?"

"Tch! Now yer imagining' things." She finished the apple, leaned away from him, and snitched up a pear from the stall with the toe of her boot. She tossed it up to her hand, produced the requisite copper pieces to pay for them, and flicked the coins out to land in the storekeeper's change pot.

The aasimar didn't even know where to begin. Her indolence was driving him to fury. "After everything you have done," he whispered fiercely, "you sit there and act as if we are not moral enemies...?"

Tallix started peeling her pear. "What've I done, eh? Gave ye an antidote? Warned ye about yer ex? I got ye outta the Shadow Plane with no Angels or Demons the wiser, dinnae I?"

His rebuttal burst furiously from his chest: "And left me to wonder to this day if-!" His heart clenched, and a panicked feeling welled up from inside him. It must have shown on his face.

Tallix halted and looked down at him. Then she sat up more fully and thumbed her hood back such that he could see her face. "Yer askin' if he _wanted_ ye ta have her?" she inquired.

The wizard swallowed hard, his mouth pressed into a thin line as he stared at the diminutive woman whom, for over a year of blissfully ignorant lies, he had called his friend.

The old halfling wasn't smirking. She watched his face for a moment. "Lad, ye were supposed to either bend or break. Instead, ye strafed. Ye went and played a Joker and an Ace o' Cups outta a pinochle deck 'gainst Old Man Death; and it shut his laughing skull up good as he tried ta figure out what the hell happened."

Gorion stared at her; at the wretched creature to whom he most likely owed his life.

She leaned back and returned to peeling her pear. "So don't let anyone convince ye ta mulligan now, no matter what madman's fever's seized ye. Ya changed the whole damn game, and now ye sure as _hell_ better keep playin."

...

* * *

Jaheira was at the bar that evening. She was scrutinizing a new enchanted tumbler which contained ar freshly mixed drink. A shimmer of blue light told her that the contents were poison free. She grunted and had lifted the rim to her mouth when, a blue-robed wizard slipped onto the bar stool beside her.

"I'll have whatever she's having," Gorion sighed, leaning his cheek on a fist.

Jaheira nearly snorted out her drink. She quickly lowered the glass and looked bewildered at her elusive friend. Gorion had made it fairly clear he could barely stand her presence. She was quiet a moment, and then turned to look at her husband to see if he was seeing the same thing. Khalid shrugged in mute surprise.

Jaheira looked back to Gorion. "Prove you are not a doppelganger," she instructed him.

The wizard eyed her tiredly, flicking his head slightly to get hair out of his eyes. "The first time we had sex was on the roof of the Suldanessellar palace. We got away with it, too, though it was quite the narrow escape."

Jaheira turned scarlet out to the tips of her ears.

Khalid looked down and covered his mouth to stifle a giggle.

...

* * *

The malaise that had kept Gorion cooped up in Blackstaff tower had been broken; in the evenings, he found himself heading out to join Khalid and Jaheira at the tavern. He told himself it was because he was concerned for their safety.

Gods, how he was glad he'd failed in shutting them out.

Whether Jaheira instinctively knew not to ask personal questions, or whether Khalid had trained her to it, Gorion was thankful. Three years, and yet somehow he'd long forgotten how comforting her grouchy pragmatism could be. He had spent so much time dreading their reaction; but Khelben was right: Jaheira was his best and eldest friend. Khalid was, too, by proxy...

"Another fruitless day?" Gorion asked yet again as he took his seat.

Jaheira growled her greeting. "Three weeks since that bastard tried to kill me- two since he nearly killed you!- and every path we've turned down shows up nothing...!" she exclaimed. "If I did not know better, I'd say he'd left the city! Would that I had an enemy to face; but this _waiting_ for days on end in this wretched city without event is maddening!"

Gorion's drink was served to him on top of a coaster. He took it and then paused. A glance from his coaster to Jaheira's showed the two did not match. Quickly, he picked up the tile and turned it over.

It was a mirror, he realized. A glass mirror, which were expensive things. And scrawled on it in bright red lip rouge were the words: "He- or 'she,' currently- is at the table nearest the door."

Jaheira's eyes widened as she realized what he was holding. She leaned over to see the message, and then looked to Gorion in surprise. The wizard swallowed. Then he smeared the lipstick off the pane, and tilted it. Sure enough, he could see a lone woman seated at a table for two beside the inn entryway.

[Do you remember your quip about doppelgangers?] Gorion whispered in elvish, tilting the glass out of view as the woman abruptly looked towards them. [I doubt that's what he is, but the basic premise holds relevant...]

[Silvanus...] Jaheira breathed. [Of course... _that_ would explain why our leads all ran dry... An assassin who can change his face has no tracks...!] Gorion tilted the glass into view again just in time to see the woman leaving the inn. Apparently he/she'd felt their eyes on him/her. Jaheira cursed, but said: "The challenges posed by this task just became much clearer to me."

Khalid hesitated. [Uh, Gorion, pardon... but, em, _who_ gave us that mirror?]

Gorion looked to the glass and then stood. [A _better_ assassin,] he answered, walking up to where the poisons master had been sitting. He searched for clues, and picked up the wine glass. A smudge of lipstick. The woman had been wearing gloves. He knelt down and ran his fingertips over the ground as Jaheira and Khalid hurried up behind him.

A moment later he stood up, holding fast to a piece of hair to the light. [Can you use that for scrying?] Khalid realized. Then Jaheira took in a sharp breath as the strand changed from straight and blonde to wavy an brown. Tallix hadn't been lying; this was likely their assassin.

[We don't have to,] Gorion responded. [Jaheira, can you track him?]

The druid grinned in realization. Then, to the startled exclamations of nearby tavern patrons, her shape began to contort and shrink. She grew fur where there had been flesh and leather, and her bones shortened and elongated in many places. Moments later, a wolf stood in her place. Gorion made way for her to examine the place where the assassin had been sitting, and showed to her the utensils he/she had used and the hair he had gathered.

By the time any of the inngoers had thought to voice a proper complaint, Jaheira was sprinting out the inn doorway with both men in tow, and Gorion was casting to give himself _Infravision_.

...

* * *

Jaheira followed the scent to the door of an old and partially decrepit building. A quick _Knock _spell got them inside, and Jaheira charged forward to Gorion's startled "Wait-!"

A dozen tiny clicks sounded, and a dozen tiny darts sailed through the darkness over her head; They had been meant for taller opponents. Gorion and Khalid both cringed. Jaheira kept running. When they saw that nothing had hit her, they gave a mutual sigh of relief. "Guard the entrance, Khalid," Gorion requested, and then he quickly cast to detect traps.

Jaheira rushed back and forth through the musky creaking rooms. Gorion helped her, but they found the building deserted. The broken windows gave them a good idea of what had happened to their prey.

Jaheira growled and quickly bolted down to round the housing block. Khalid called after her, and tried to keep up. Gorion frowned, listening to the old house. He sniffed the air; The house _was_ musky. Enough to fool Jaheira? Was it possible the assassin was using invisibility? Gorion was _ready _for a fight. He lingered, hoping to dare the assassin out of hiding. When nothing happened, he made his way to the door and stroked his chin. Had he missed something?

Glancing up, Gorion saw that Khalid had paused at the end of the street block, and backed up that he could keep an eye both on Jaheira and himself. Clearly he wasn't willing to let either out of eyesight. Gorion smiled.

Then the magus' gaze darted to an unassuming red-headed woman who was walking briskly through the darkness on her way home. Gorion frowned. He tilted his head to the side, watching as she drew out a bottle of perfume and sprayed it generously over her neck.

Gorion took in a slow breath. Then he started to cast.

Khalid nearly leaped out of his skin as a massive spike of ice burst through the air not five feet in front of him. A cry drew his attention to a voluptuous red-head, whom had been stabbed through with the blast of ice and who was dangling trembling from its branches with her mouth agape.

The fighter's eyes widened. "Gorion!" he exclaimed.

The ice crackled apart as soon as it had formed. The woman stumbled for her and Khalid moved to catch her.

"That's the assassin!" Gorion shouted, breaking into a run. Khalid recoiled. The woman staggered forward another step, and Khalid drew out his sword and pointed it at her in shock.

She staggered forward another step, her knees shaking.

"Don't breathe! She's cloaked in poisonous fog-!"

The woman lunged at Khalid. She impaled herself clear onto his sword, and slid forward onto the hilt. Khalid's eyes widened as he stared at her in horror. To his credit, he did not come remotely close to dropping the sword, and his arm was firm. He held his lips tightly together.

The woman looked up at him, and then slowly swiveled her head to look at Gorion as he approached.

"May... your... master... burn in... _hell_..." Then her eyes rolled up in her head, and the life left her eyes. Her body rippled and contorted. It grew extra arms and extra legs in a process that looked horrifically painful and unnatural. At long last, her corpse dropped to the ground, half red-head and half dark blonde, half man and half woman, with an incorrectly configured number of parts from each.

Khalid stumbled backward from the corpse, letting it slide off his corpse as he covered his mouth. When he was a safe distance away, he leaned over and started gagging.

"My 'master'?" Gorion mused to himself. He frowned. "She meant Khelben," he realized with surprise.

"How did you _know _it was the assassin?" Khalid gagged.

"I am currently the world's leading expert in femme fatales," Gorion retorted. Then he took a slow breath and, to Khalid's surprise, he shuddered slightly and rubbed at his brow. "I guessed," the magus admitted quietly. "I didn't have time to cast _Detect Poison._" Then he looked back down at the disturbing aftermath of a particularly grisly posthumous shape-change. Jaheira was hurrying back to them, and so were a number of guards.

_When was the last time I trusted myself to make a decision like that? _Gorion wondered. _With lives on the line? What if I had been wrong? What if this whole thing had been a set up to make me kill an innocent-... __But I wasn't wrong._

Gorion took in a deep breath and then began to cast. He conjured up a _Whispering Wind_ and sent it with a message to Khelben: "We've killed the assassin. If I'm not home in three hours, I was arrested and need you to bail me out."

...

* * *

Gorion and company were most certainly arrested.

As they stood in bonds within the Spires of the Morning, the Waterdhavian temple to Lathander, waiting for a cleric to arrive to take their testimony and ascertain the truth of their statements, Gorion could not help but sneer irritably up at the beautiful chapel statues and painted ceilings.

_Why is it always Lathander? _he wondered tiredly, for it had been a very long and emotionally stressful night. _Why not Tyr? Or Torm? Or Helm? Why not Mystra? Why- in your life alone, Gorion- must 'just, good, and fair' always take the form of Lathander? _He pitied himself. _Most likely its because your g__randfather just had to tap a damn angel. _

Jaheira elbowed him. "Stop thinking about your grandmother," she hissed.

"That's not half of it anymore," Gorion retorted, but he schooled his expression to neutrality lest he read as hostile. Then he thought of Aegis, and felt silly for pitying himself. _Well, at least my father didn't tap the Death god. _His face screwed up. _Although..._ *_I* did._ Dismay pain creeped across his features. _Repeatedly, if unintentionally..._

"Are you paying any attention?" Jaheira complained. "Is your head in the clouds!?"

Gorion grunted. Maybe he had more in common with his daughter than he had realized. Obviously if an aasimar could refuse to walk the path of a paladin, despite absolutely ridiculous quantities of Lathander-themed forces at work in his life, a deathchild ought to be able to able to refuse the same 'easy paths' and work towards an alternative calling. It would pay to understand her instinctive moral motivations as best as he could. He would have to look up research material on tiefling psychology; it might give him some insights-.

Jaheira stamped on his foot. Gorion winced. "Present and accounted for," he promised her; though to be honest he still felt a little giddy, and it was getting past his bedtime.

...

* * *

It was exactly two hours and forty-seven minutes after his _Whispering Wind_ spell that Gorion finally entered Blackstaff tower. To his surprise, he found that Khelben had food waiting for him. Not only that, but the archwizard was holding Aegis and rocking her, and she was dozing miserably on his shoulder. The moment Gorion entered, she perked up slightly and wiggled about.

"That's right," Kelben praised her."Daddy's back now, so no more crying... There's a girl..." He came up and eased her into the younger wizard's arms, who took her in a loving vice. Aegis sniffled needily into her father's shoulder, and was unconscious almost immediately.

Khelben blinked, scowled at her, and put his hands on his hips. Then he shrugged, amused. "She knows who she belongs to," he drawled tiredly. "And with that, I bid you _goodnight_."

Gorion's brows furrowed together. Then he realized he was too tired to care. He hastily ate up the food he'd been given, headed upstairs, dropped his cloak, climbed into bed, and kicked off his shoes. He settled Aegis down against his pillows and breast, and stroked gently over her hair.

_I'm too old for that lifestyle. I've a daughter to come home to. _

He stroked gently over her hair again, and then he was fast asleep. ...

* * *

It was early morning; just before first light, when a polite knock came on the door of Gorion's suite. The aasimar went to it, and fond it to be Khalid.

It had been a week and a half since the death of the assassin, and the married couple had decided to stay in Waterdeep _just_ a little longer. Rather than being sullen or bitter, Gorion was glad for the company. Particularly, he was grateful for the ability to go grocery shopping in the middle of the day owed entirely to Khalid-Babysitting-Services. Jaheira, bless her heart, was not as interested in children.

"Khalid?" Gorion greeted and waved the half-elf in. "It's early."

"Um, G-gorion..." Khalid began as he entered the room. The aasima lifted a brow. Khalid cleared his throat and tried anew: "It's Jaheira and I's very first anniversary... and I was wondering if you might be able to help me pick out a present? I'm... I'm always terribly clumsy at these things."

Gorion's eyes widened.

This was an _emergency_!

...

* * *

Khelben blinked awake and yawned. Then he winced slightly, and lifted a hand to his temple as he stretched his senses throughout the tower. What was...? His heart jumped. Crying. He could hear a baby crying. And _that_ meant that Gorion had left the tower. Judging by the light, it was an hour past dawn, which meant-

...

* * *

"Abudawa!" Aegis demanded angrily when Khelben came over to peer into her cradle, his eyes heavy with sleep.

The archwizard sighed dramatically. "Hello, monster child. And here I was enjoying a reprieve from your needy shrieking in the mornings. Up promptly with the dawn, as per usual, I see?"

There was no apology in his voice. "Ua," she forgave him anyway, her little hands waggling in the air as her face pulled up into a smile.

Khelben looked to the left, and then to the right. Then he caved in and gathered up the pudgy infant, bouncing her gently and then hoarding her close so he could tickle her feet. She squealed and grabbed hold of his beard. He gave her a smooch on the brow and carried her over to an armchair that he might read his mail.

He was not jealous of Khalid.

He was not.

...Okay, maybe just a little.

Maybe he just needed to have children again...

...

* * *

Jaheira was not the easiest woman to buy gifts for, Gorion and Khalid both knew. She was pragmatic, and so most offerings of an aesthetic nature disinterested her. Jewelry and clothing were misses more often than hits. She was a druid, so flowers were clearly a poor choice. And she tended to maintain her own gear precisely to her satisfaction, which made it difficult to buy her practical things.

In truth, the exercise was a perfect bonding experience for the two men. "We haven't gotten to speak much since the marriage," Gorion sighed. "I was... distracted."

"I was glad you attended," Khalid confessed. "For all that you scarcely spoke and left immediately afterwards. I... I honestly needed your approval."

Gorion raised a brow. "I told you for _years_ to admit your affections to her. Why would you crave further approval from _me_?"

"My own family was not happy with me," Khalid told him. "We went to see them a few months ago. Their happiness levels had... not improved. Having your blessing and your presence meant a lot to me. I am not sure if you realized, but none of my own relatives attended."

The aasimar deflated a bit. Then he took in a deep breath. "Vanilla," he explained his trade secret. "Jaheira has a weakness for bean flavored sugar pastries. Namely, for vanilla- sometimes with a hint of fruit or mint. "

Khalid looked at him in surprise.

"It is one of her most deeply kept secrets," Gorion cautioned him sagely. "She will admit it to no one, but I've seen the evidence! Any other form of sweet goes untouched or gets fed to the wildlife- ah, but not vanilla!" he gesticulated. "Of vanilla there will be nothing but crumbs by evening, mark my words, and she will savor every bite! You must guard this knowledge well, Khalid; It must never fall into evil hands!"

Khalid saluted, a grin pulling across his face. "On my life!" he laughed. "I shall protect it on my life! We must find a bakery, then!"

...

* * *

Khalid and Gorion were attempting to choose between many different pastry offerings when the voice of a market monger crept up through the crowd, mingling with all the others:

"Turnips! Get yer fresh turnips! Genuine gnomish turnips, don't be shy! We've got red, we've got white, we've got them funny ones with the blue streaks in the middle-"

Gorion's eyes rolled shut, and his lips drooped into a vicious sneer. He furrowed his brows together in something resembling pain, tolerance, or anger.

"Gorion?" Khalid asked, noticing the facial expression.

"I know that voice," the magus uttered.

"Whose?"

"Give me a moment," the wizard growled, "and don't follow." He turned around and pushed through the crowd until at last he'd come up to a cart parked up against an alleyway, where a halfling was selling quite a large quantity of swollen turnips.

She was not immediately recognizable, as she was wearing a coat and a long-brimmed hat, and her chosen color palette was bland and patchy such that it faded into the rest of the market. But he knew her voice well by then; it was starting to haunt him worse than Lullorin's ever had.

"You," he snapped. He used Thari, the Moonsea dialect.

"Hey there, tallfellow lad!" Tallix Snapdragon chirped back, tilting back her hat to grin up at him. She had a brown eyepatch on today. "Can I interest ye in some fine turnips this afternoon?"

He stared at her in disgust and then stepped closer and leaned over her cart that he could speak in a low voice with her without being overheard. "You. Are. Following. Me."

"Nae, lad!" she protested in whisper, slapping a hand across her heart as if wounded. "I've just decided ta stay in Waterdeep for a spell; so I need the look o' an honest job, now don't I? What's all this 'following' nonsense? Ain't me fault ye came over here ta see me wares, ye know!"

"Your only wares are deception and blood," he hissed. "You will leave the city, whether it is of your own volition or in a casket."

Tallix beamed. "Well least we've grown past the stage of sudden and _unnegotiable_ violence! Lad, ye want me where ye can keep an eye on me, or ye want me where only I can keep an eye on ye?"

"Neither," he spat: "Get out."

The halfling chuckled. "Ye ain't got a choice, Feathers. Old Auntie goes where she pleases. Ye think ye can track me down if I stop doin' ye the courtesy of showin' me face? Heh, well, yer welcome ta try."

Gorion was livid. His arms shook with anger as he stared down at her. "Courtesy," he spat. "You... you spin deception... like other women spin flax...!" He shook his head. "The next time I see you, Tallix, I will kill you."

"Why?" she asked picking up one of her turnips to peel it.

His face drew in fury. " 'Why!? '" he spat, following her.

"That's what I asked ye; as I ain't ever done a thing ta ye," she observed.

"You-you nearly _damned_ me!"

"My only job were ta keep the fake Lathanderite girl safe, and I didn't even know what the hell she was until near on towards the end. Ain't like I'm the one who fucked ye, lad."

He nearly lunged forward to throttle her. "You were her right hand! You let me go through-"

Her eyes widened. "Ye think I should have _saved_ ye from her?" she asked. "Like ye were some innocent 'lil flower and some _moral compulsion_ from deep down in the depths of me soul oughta told me that helpin' ye were the right thing to do?"

That was it. He could not handle her any longer. He was blind to the risks as draconic flew to his lips:_"Gasving jusk do-"_

"The hell should I have felt anything for a man who commits mass genocide o' children under four?" she asked him flatly.

Gorion's voice cut off. His eyes widened.

Tallix leaned her shoulder up against a wall and kept peeling her turnip, watching him from under hooded eyes. "Yer dagger might o' made it look all pretty and peaceful, but death's what ye gave them babes. Ye realize how many kids I watched ye kill, Ri? Ye think ye looked like anythin' worth savin? Anythin' other than a zealot?"

The aasimar stared. Every muscle in his body was clenched defensively, but suddenly all the fight had gone out of him.

"I were there, in the shadows. I _watched_ ye kill yer own wee sons," she informed him.

He was overwhelmed suddenly; but not by anger. He staggered backwards and looked away, and he raised a hand to covered his mouth. When he could speak at last, his voice came out hollow: "Why are you here?"

"Cause o' I done made up me mind ta like ye, lad. Yer still fucked up somethin' bloody awful, but I'm realizin' yer heart were in th' right place after all."

He turned his head back to stare at her.

"Now are ye gonna buy any turnips, or just stand there scarin' away me customers?"

Gorion stared at her for a very long time. Then he turned and walked away from her and her cart. He went back to Khalid, who did a double-take at his vacant expression. "Rion?" the fighter asked, worried.

"I don't want to talk," the wizard whispered fervently. "Today has set itself to disagreed with me. I don't want to talk."

Khalid swallowed. He glanced off in the direction Gorion had gone, and then he patted the wizard's shoulder. "Let's just finish buying the pastries." Gorion nodded.

...

* * *

The anniversary presents were a success, or so a blushing Khalid had informed Gorion the next morning.

And when Jaheira and Khalid eventually decided to leave Waterdeep, it was on Harper business. Gorion wanted to go with them, but he wanted to take care of Aegis more. He almost wanted to ask them not to leave; but it would have been unfair of them, and anyway he still wasn't ready to share Aegis' patronage with anyone.

So it was that he found himself at the gates of Waterdeep on Marpenoth first, sending his two favorite half-elves off. Without him. It was a strange situation; usually, people were seeing _him_ off.

Jaheira hugged him tightly and kissed his cheek. "Are you sure we cannot convince you to come to Tethyr with us?" she asked. "Or the High Forest?"

He shook his head. "No. But you are right, Blackstaff tower is no place to rear a baby. Aegis doesn't see sunlight; and I am abusing Khelben's hospitality. When I figure out where I plan to settle more permanently, I will let you know.

She took a deep breath, and it took every fiber of her self control not to lecture or argue with him. "We'll miss you," she told him. "I know you are hurting; I know your choices ahead may not be easy; but I also know you will always be my brother, and that you will make a great father."

He swallowed and nodded.

"I demand a hug," Khalid informed him, and Gorion happily delivered one. There was a sharp tug on his hair, and then he saw to his surprise that Khalid had stolen some of his silver feathers. "And these."

Gorion raised a brow, and then laughed when Khalid leaned over and tucked them into Jaheira's hair.

When they at long last walked away, heading out on the road to adventure, Gorion stared forlorn out after them; at a life that, for him, was no over.

They would ever be his best and dearest friends. And, one day, he would trust them with the truth.

...

* * *

It was Marpenoth fourth, and already Gorion was lonely and bitter. He supposed he could have asked to help tutor the Blackstaff tower apprentices. Perhaps he did not want ties to a place he knew now could only be temporary.

Evening found him drinking alone. He hadn't been able to handle the warm environment of the tavern; he'd taken his wine outside and gone to stargaze in the gardens. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to be _cold_ and forgotten. _Two years ago, _he thought as he tilted his head back against a stone wall. _August fourth. Two years ago, today, my son was born and died. _

His eyes closed to slits.

She_ will find me here._ His lips pressed into a thin line. _I intend her to_. _The assassin is dead, and she helped. Now her hook is baited and it's time for her to say what she wants._

He lifted the bottle to his lips. _I should have warned Khelben. _It was too late for that now.

"Alright, ye got me attention," an old hag's voice floated up from surprisingly nearby. "If moping alone at night in a garden with two bottles of wine over an anniversary ain't a cry for help, I don't know what is."

Gorion's gaze slid over to where she was perched atop the wall. "I _never_ asked for your help," he replied. He picked up the second bottle, and tossed iit to her. "Here." She caught it reflexively and seemed perplexed. Then she shrugged and uncorked it by hand- no easy feat- and smelled it.

"What are ye up ta?" she wondered. "This weren't cheap."

"As you've so astutely realized, I employed behavior so as to intentionally solicit your approach," he muttered. "Insanity might as well involve good wine." Tallix seemed to eyeball him. Then she shrugged and settled down on the wall, pushed her hood back, and took a drink.

It _was_ good wine.

"I had a question to ask you," Gorion said after a few moments.

"A'right. Shoot," she encouraged.

"_When_, exactly, did Bhaal impersonate Lullorin? I've worked out that she must have been a real woman at some point."

Tallix ran her tongue along her teeth as she thought. "Before ye met her," she answered.

He grunted and nodded. "Then, I presume the original Lullorin was murdered. Would I happen to know the hand that did it?"

The halfling was quiet. He looked at her darkly, but she answered: "Aye, that ye do," and then she took another drink.

He frowned. "Fine. What was the _real _Lullorin actually like?"

Tallix shrugged. "She were an alright lass. Resourceful and well-meaning, if less spunky n' sensual."

Gorion frowned more deeply. "Why was she killed? Entirely for Bhaal's ruse?"

"Nae, that were opportunistic of the Old Man," Tallix explained. "She died months earlier, all 'cause someone paid me good and in advance, and she were the mark they gave me."

The aasimar's upper lip curled. He said nothing, but as Tallix glanced over at him she could see the muscles in his jaw and face twitching. His arms were trembling. At long last, he asked her a very surprising question: "What's your fee?"

She blinked. "Pardon? Mn. Depends on the job. Steep, anyway. Won't roll out of bed for less'n a kilo of plat."

He nodded. "And who did Lullorin upset who was able to afford _your_ fee?"

"Me clients are confidential; but in this case the client was an agent. _His_ client, I was happy to sniff out. Women was a pretty peacock and devoted Tormite from Amn; N' her proud and virtuous husband, a Knight of the Radiant Heart and wealthy nobleman, had taken a quick little tumble in the hay with a Tethyrian sun elf way back when he was just learning what it meant to be a man. And this girl, while apparently totally disinterested in Amn, nevertheless stood to inherit the grounds and manor."

"Lullorin," Gorion realized. He shook his head, and then looked bitterly at Tallix. "She had a reputation for being willing to dirty her hands and employ people others would have turned aside for their history. People like you- and you killed her for _gold_?"

Tallix shrugged. "Killed a lot more good people n' just her, Gorion. Bad ones, too. I do the job and don't get caught; and that's my profession. Good, bad; all's the same."

He stared at her a moment. "Do you enjoy your profession, Tallix?"

She considered the question. Then she shrugged. "When I'm working, I'm _dancing_. My blood is pounding; and there's a skip in my step and a song in my heart; and I'm ta leave behind a canvas splattered gently with red. I don't 'enjoy' my 'profession.' I do that because it's all I know how to do. What I enjoy, Ri, is killing. Not_ slaughter_, mind ye, but rather the thrill of a perfectly executed and singular_ kill_. It's like the most intense high you can imagine."

Gorion said nothing. Tallix looked at his face. His expression was blank, and she frowned as the sight of him threw her off balance. She'd expected disgust and hate; he'd asked her for the truth, and she'd painted a portrait of darkness too black for anyone outside its borders not to gag. She'd been prepared for a barrage; and in the wake of his silence, she didn't know what to say. After a long and awkward moment, she asked him:

"What are you thinking?"

"I am thinking about my daughter," he told her. "About whether this same thrill will live in her. About whether her whole life will be torn between fighting or submitting to natural instincts. I'm thinking about how I am going to give her a good life- a stable life- a normal life when she will want to paint the world red..." A shudder wracked the aasimar suddenly. He curled slightly and covered his face.

Tallix shared at him a long moment. Then she dropped to the ground and walked up in front of him. He noticed and looked up at her with an untrusting grimace. The halfling shook her head. "She ain't ever gonna be _normal_, Ri."

His eyes narrowed viciously.

"Well, she ain't. But there's cold, and then there's _me_. Being a sociopath doesn't mean a person can't be good; but it does mean they'll never respond to being shamed. Ye should be careful ye-"

The fact that her words echoed his own insights filled him with panic and fury. The hells had she seeded in his head. "_You_ are giving me parenting advice for her!?" he spat, suddenly furious. "_You_!? His _right hand_!?"

Tallix shrank back in surprise. "Lad, I am not gonna sabotage yer kid-"

"You wretched, miserable, _evil_ creature!" he spat, floundering forward to try and stand. "Even if you were not obviously and admittedly his pet- you- YOU-! You are a _thing of Death_! What would _you_ know about rearing life!? You sick-!"

Tallix shied back from him, her eyes widening until at last she shouted a thunderous: "Enough!"

Gorion came up short, blinking. Tallix grimaced and turned away from him. Without another word, she fled the conversation and vanished off into the night.

...

* * *

Tallix stopped showing up in his shadow and scaring him out of his wits. She stopped showing up at all. Weeks went by without a sign from her

_I need to tell Khelben about her. About her involvement. About everything; and her contact with me. About what she is. _

But he didn't. Because telling Khelben meant admitting to the archmagus that a Chosen of Bhaal had helped he and Aegis escape together; and that was the one 'coincidence' he was sure would lose him Khelben's faith. He was afraid to mention anything about the halfling, lest it inevitably segue into that topic.

Then notes started finding Gorion on occasion when he traveled to the marketplace. They usually arrived by courier or bird, and they were always brief, and to the point. _"G- Leaving Waterdeep. Seven days -T."_ Seven days later, he'd unfailingly receive a: _"G- Back -T." _If nothing else, he learned that Tallix was fantastic at budgeting time.

Other than that, he didn't know _what_ to feel. Each new note (_"G- Visiting Undermountain. Two Days -T"_) was frustrating and upsetting on some confusing emotional level. An assassin was doing him the _courtesy_ of letting him keep track of her comings and goings. The gesture was almost friendly, and simultaneously maddening.

He did ask Khelben to scry on the halfling, citing her original tip on Jaheira's assassin and confessing that Tallix's appearance had unnerved him. Again, the archmagus found _nothing_; It appeared Tallix Snapdragon was utterly immune to every conceivable divination.

What else could he do?

As the months passed, he started tracking her comings and goings in his spellbook. He started listening for rumors and major obituaries. He took notes. And when these things began to stress him out- and it didn't take long- he'd fold up his notes and quickly go back to tending for his daughter. He'd almost entirely weaned her off of sentient blood.

...

* * *

_She said she'd be back and she's not._

_She budgeted ten days; it has been seventeen. _

Gorion was stressed. 'A Misplaced Tallix Snapdragon' was the veritable _definition_ of stress, as far as he was concerned; it embodied, manifested, and magnified all things stressful.

He tried once more to scry on her himself and, of course, turned up blank.

He was so worried. For a few days, he couldn't even tell exactly who he was worried for.

...

* * *

A month passed in meditative silence. Slowly, day by day, he calmed himself and schooled his thoughts. His assassin-log went untouched.

...

* * *

It was a brisk winter morning.

Gorion stepped through the first snows, a satchel over his shoulder and a quiet expression on his face. His demanding newborn was in need of fresh milk and and a more thoroughly insulated set of clothing. The wind kicked up small flurries behind him. The sun was just cresting over Waterdeep's skyline. He was cutting through an alleyway, when sixth sense well-honed by years of adventure warned him that something was wrong. Was he being followed?

Gorion paused. He turned and looked around at winter's long shadows. There were no other footprints in the fresh powder. Frowning, Gorion glanced back out in the direction he'd been traveling. A second cautionary sensation gripped his stomach almost the instant his back was turned, and he looked quickly back in alarm.

A female halfling stood there upon the tail of his shadow. There were no fresh footprints around her feet. The edge of her cloak danced around her like a wraith. Gorion's eyes narrowed, and he stepped back from her. "You. Get out."

"Listen, Ri; I've got a favor to ask of ye," Tallix Snapdragon began immediately. She sounded tired.

The wizard's eyes narrowed. "What?"

"I can't but explain quickly," she told him. "I have a problem where-"

"I have no reason to trust anything you say, Tallix Snapdragon. You forget I've seen how naturally and easily lies come to you. You can stab a man in his back while you sympathize to his face; and he'd never be the wiser." He slipped a hand behind his back, teasing a bag of spell components from his belt.

She snarled and lifted a hand up to push back her hood. Her face was hard. "Look, I ain't got time for this. Gorion, can I _trust_ ye?"

"The _converse_ is the problem!" The halfling grimaced and fell silent It looked as if she was deliberating over what to say, or trying to pick from a thousand options. Your voice is poison," he snarled. "Every word is like a dagger on my skull. There is little else in this world that could fill me with quite so much loathing as the sight or sound of you in any space I call home. I have a _child_ to think of!"

The halfling's shoulders slumped a bit, and for a moment she actually looked her age. She looked around a moment, as if desperately raking her mind for some solution. After a moment, she turned and whistled whrply. Gorion tensed. A brief instant passed in silence; then a tiny shape appeared at the edge of the alleyway.

It was humanoid. That was the first thing Gorion registered; followed by the fact that it was dressed in red deer leather trimmed in white fur, in a style that suggested it was female. Then he realized_ she_ was scarcely a foot and a half tall, that her legs were so short she left a rut in the snow as opposed to footprints. She looked out at him for a moment, with shock red tufts of hair visible about her face and enormous green eyes. She was no larger than a doll, and the plush, toy horse she clutched to her chest was almost as big as her.

The wizard straightened upwards in disbelief. His abrupt motion must have frightened the halfling toddler, because she bolted forward from the side of the alleyway and waddled hurriedly through the snow. When she reached Tallix's side, she hid behind the old assassin's leg. Tallix rested a hand on her head and then turned a pleading expression up to Gorion. "The wrong people found out about her. I need to hide her someplace they can't reach while I straighten things out."

Gorion did a double take. His lip curled. "What trick is this?"

"Fuck you and your tricks and your paranoia!" she sputtered as if exasperated. "Ye don't have ta trust me; All I'm askin' is can I trust _ye_ nae ta hurt her?"

Gorion was confused. His lips pressed together and then he asked: "Where did you find a-? Is this a Bhaalspawn?"

Tallix grimaced, her gaze darkening and her grasp tightening on the child. She was offended it mattered. "Her pa was no one. Some cute redhead from down south."

He frowned, drawing back. "Her- She can't be- You are _eighty-_"

"Eighty-six, aye!" Tallix shouted. "And I don't get laid often, so at eighty-two I naively presumed I were past the phase o' needin' ta use a goatskin sleeve! Life be just full of fecking surprises, eh?!"

The wizard's stomach dropped out from within him. He looked at the toddler, and then up at Tallix. Three. The child was three. A divination could prove her lineage. "You- you have a-?"

Tallix swallowed. "Aye," she agreed, voice hoarse. Then she straightened a little. "Her name's Anaxa. Best thing I ever done in this world. So one last time, Ri, as we are kinda dodgin' a landslide and I need a straight answer: Can I _trust ye _nae ta hurt her?"

Gorion stared at her. Stared; as the truth finally hit him in all its many colors.

...

* * *

[Author's Note]

I wonder how many people caught on when Tallix was talking to Montaron that she had a 23 year old daughter and that Aegis was 20, which meant she'd just become a new mum immediately prior to the Bhaalspawn purges and that she was hiding a 3 year old somewhere the day Gorion adopted Aegis...

Also if it's winter, Imoen was just born ;)


	12. Almost Winter

I keep forgetting to mention there's a tremendous quantity of fresh art on my DeviantArt, including a comic called Little Lady which, yes, is in the Baldur's Gate universe ;)

...

* * *

_**Almost Winter**_

_**...**_

* * *

The morning was calm, soft, and quiet.

A cold wind had come in from the north, carrying an icy drizzle on its backside. The sky was dark and gray long into the early daylight hours, and the pattering of water against shingles and sills kept most of the party members asleep.

In fact, when Ajantis finally awoke, it was only because something moved. He blinked tiredly alert and shifted slightly. Then his eyes widened and he pushed himself quickly up in his elbows.

He was in a Noble Class suite. And by the weight across the small of his back, the soft sounds of contented snoring, and the curvature of a breast against his skin, the person sprawled out over top of him could have but one identity.

Ajantis' face fell in disbelief. Slowly, wincing under the weight of his transgression, he twisted himself about that he might have a look.

Shar-Teel's slumbering form was flung out diagonally over his. The blankets were wrapped up and twisted all over the place, the mattress sheets had been pulled up in one corner, and most of the bed's pillows had been lost. In fact, the only pillow yet remaining was the one Ajantis himself had woken up with. The bed, headboard, beside tables, and floor were all covered in clothing and discarded pieces of armor.

He considered fleeing the room naked. He considered waking her up to have a long conversation about how this was never, ever to happen again. He considered calmly standing up, putting his clothing back on, and walking back to Amn.

With a sinking feeling, the paladin concluded that none of these solutions were likely to actually accomplish much of anything. Perhaps if he swore a vow of abstinence from alcohol?

_Helm, whatever black magic has compelled me into this fornication a second time, whatever internal vice or weakness has left me susceptible to the sin of lust, whatever trial I must now overcome; I give thanks onto you and onto all the knightly deities that the woman whose bed I just awoke in was not Viconia DeVir._

_Thank you, thank you, thank you. This may be disheartening, but that would be devastating. Understanding my relationship with a beautiful and vulnerable Sharite is entirely complicated enough as-is._

Shar-Teel slumbered away. Her features were relaxed, and she had a peaceful expression on her face. Her mouth, left devoid of instructions, seemed naturally inclined to smile. Her skin was speckled with old battlescars.

For someone so tall and broad-shouldered, the fightress was decidedly lacking in fat. Her breasts were small, her thighs were scarcely rounded, and in a certain light she honestly could have been described as wiry. She was taller than he, and her muscles had the greater definition, and yet she most probably weighed no more than he did.

After a moment of study and contemplation, Ajantis surrendered to his own weight: He fell back into the sheets, grabbed the feather pillow, and pulled it over his head.

A naked woman was sleeping on top of him; The world could wait a few more hours, 'till he was good and ready to handle it.

...

* * *

When Aegis got downstairs that morning with Xzar leaning heavily on her shoulder and Pretzels hopping down the steps behind them, she found only Jaheira and Khalid waiting for her. The Harpers glanced at her with concern; they had not been thrilled with her decision to coddle the necromancer the evening before, but they had not protested. "No Xan?" she wondered. Xzar looked a little relieved.

"I checked on him and Branwen," Jaheira sighed, "but I did not want to disturb them."

A knowing smirk slipped through Aegis' sleepiness. "They could win a 'Faerun's cutest couple' award," she agreed.

Xzar glanced up weakly. "Mn... There is something strangely and perhaps poetically ironic that it is the Harpers alone who are present for this morning's scheduled program..."

Jaheira eyed him distrustfully. "You should be grateful you yet draw breath, toad. Have you _left_ the Zhentarim or do you sti-?" she began to ask.

"Questions soon; not now," Aegis prohibited. "Wizard, you can hardly walk. I'm going to carry you."

Xzar frowned and then gave a tired sigh. "Oh the ease with which you let_ me_ near your throat, my Moaratuk," he groaned with thankful disapproval, slipping his arms about her neck as she stooped. Jaheira grimaced. "Any personal defense councilor would, I suspect, warn you otherwise."

"Yes, yes; danger this, doomed that," she muttered, getting a hand under his butt and another on his elbow as she stood. She adjusted their cloaks; it was cold and wet out. "Seems Xan's with us in spirit after all."

He leaned his face into her hair. "This is hardly sufficient paranoia for someone whom is routinely visited by assassins and was just nearly eaten..."

Nearly? "How about I do the whole wrathful, suspicious thing _after_ we take precautions to keep you from throwing up blood in my hair?" she suggested as she headed towards the door. Pretzels went no farther than the stoop, watching the rain with big eyes.

Jaheira shook her head as she and her husband followed Aegis. "Well _you_ seem not to be taking this with the gravity it deserves," the druid growled at the ranger as they exited the tavern. "I can understand sparing his life owed to the true nature of his intentions. But after what he has done, and what you now know to be true about history, I would presume you might realize your foolishness."

Aegis shrugged. "Life's too short to stay angry with the people you love."

Jaheira sighed in irritation. Khalid looked up at her thoughtfully. The necromancer's arms tightened slightly about his lover's collar, but he said nothing.

"Aegis," Jaheira transitioned, "there is another topic I want to raise: the Thayvian. There is a part of me that would still counsel you ambush him while he is sleeping and take his head off."

The ranger looked to her, recalling that even Harpers could be pragmatic when the situation called for it. Well, it wasn't like Aegis owed Edwin any more second chances. "Well as much as I might have wanted to tear his spleen out at the time, I'll be happy not to murder anyone in their sleep."

"Edwin doesn't echo your sentiments," Jaheira pointed out, tugging her cloak tightly together to keep out the frigid rain. "A wizard can take out an entire party with little more than planning and a scribble; but surprise is their counter-element. Do not presume you can afford to let him walk away, no matter how unknightly it might seem."

Aegis hesitated. "Then do you think he's lying about Dynaheir?""

Jaheira's brow furrowed. "No, he aims to leave her be. Although they had a very violent argument yesterday, and Imoen could well have ended up dead if not for Edwin's quick action."

Aegis stiffened. She considered this rapidly. "He-? Eh... Well then, I suppose Edwin hasn't _eaten_ anyone lately, either. So I guess I can thank Xzar, for putting things into perspective for me." The necromancer mumbled sadly against the back of her neck as she considered Edwin in this fresh light. "What _is_ your advice, then?" she asked the druid, confused.

The half-elf took in a thoughtful breath through the nose and then tilted her head to the side. "Keep him with us. Keep him _close_."

Aegis raised a brow, surprised again. "That's a dramatic change of opinion."

Jaheira sighed heavily. "Perhaps I am getting senile in my old age," she suggested as Khalid looked at her in bemusement, "or sentimental. I looked that man in the eyes, and I realized that I _believed_ him. His tactics were misguided and maddeningly obtuse, yet I have no doubt he acted out of earnest affection." She looked at Aegis. "Mostly because he seemed confused by it. But he lacks the wisdom to make even the most basic of good decisions, or to treat people with the respect they deserve; and his moral fibre is repugnant. If he is not carefully managed, he will always be a great danger to all of us. Her, most of all."

The ranger was quiet for a short while.

Xzar lifted his head slightly, noting that they had reached the temple and entered the south-western hall. Acolytes were moving around and preparing for the coming dawn. He looked about and then could not help but smile when a heavily cloaked and hooded man straightened upward and looked towards them.

"Aegis, about Imoen..." Jaheira drawled with sudden amusement, "did you just... somehow _not_ catch that, immediately after Montaron's betrayal, your sister went and latched onto the _next _closest, most unpleasant male in her vicinity? Disregarding the pre-attached necromancer."

"Well, Xan and I _almost_ caught it," Aegis sighed dramatically. "_S__peaking_ of weird relationships," the ranger segued, peering down at Jaheira, "recently it came to my attention that you and my father were _lovers_ once."

Xzar had to refrain from bursting out laughing at the hooded man's mute reaction of surprise. _What perfect timing!_

Khalid blinked and smiled quietly at the ground. Jaheira's mouth twisted up and she looked away as if embarrassed; "Ah. Yes. Once. We salvaged our friendship at the end, for which I am grateful."

Aegis raised a brow at her. "You barely grieved. I mean, when we told you he had died. You barely grieved at all."

"Publically?" Jaheira asked quietly. "No, no I did not. I do not wear those sorts of feelings... openly... I can assure you I grieved in private."

Aegis absorbed this, recalling how bossy and short-tempered Jaheira had been for the first few weeks of their relationship. Jaheira's tendency to mother her was more understandable in such a light. "What was he like?" she asked as Xzar surreptitiously watched the Not-So-Very-Dead-Harper trailing, forlorn, after them from the shadows.

"Your father?" Jaheira looked off down their path. "I see much of him in you, and in Imoen. He was... noble in intention and in deed; but there was a streak of mischievousness to him. He was rebellious and restless; and he always needed to be engaged in something. He was also loving, and loyal, and _stubborn_; And when he made up his mind to help someone, there was no one and nothing which might convince him to stand aside."

The Candlekeep girl thought of Kivan's 'Sisters' quip before he'd walked off last evening. Then she shook her head. "His murderer is still out there, somewhere. The Horned Knight. It seems he's too wrapped up in this Iron Crisis business to busy to come after me personally again?" Jaheira looked at her. "Till the end of my days, I will never forget the sound of that bastard's voice: low and rich and taunting.'" She took in a deep breath. "Gorion shouldn't have died that night. The fiend was after me. Just me.'"

Jaheira eyed her slowly, as if she thought the tall ranger might be stupid. "Gorion would have sooner surrendered his own lungs than give up his baby girl. _You_ did not see his face the year he adopted you. There was but one thing in all the world which could have made that foolish man give up a life of tomb raiding, slave ring busting, tavern hopping, and reckless adventure, and also voluntarily elect to sequester himself in a library: and that was his daughter. You were precious to him, Aegis. More than you know."

"H-he had c-clearly been p-protecting you for a v-very long t-time," Khalid agreed. "H-he was v-very nervous about letting a-anyone near you, even a-as a baby. If only h-he had dropped more c-clues as to _why_..."

Aegis tried and failed to imagine her father tavern hopping. Her eyes misted up slightly. "I wouldn't have left him," she said quietly at last. "Imoen saw the fight; she says Gorion wasted a spell to _charm_ me into obeying. I must have shaken it and doubled back around, because I saw the end..." Tears started falling. She moved a hand to wipe her face. "When he fell, I ran. Later, I kept thinking, w-what if I had r-reached him in t-time? Would he still be alive? I know it's stupid to blame myself for that, because the bastard ran him clear through, but... "

Jaheira frowned. Khalid lifted a hand to gently touch her arm. Xzar looked back down at her.

"... I wish I had been the fighter that night that I am now..." Aegis murmured tremulously. "I wish had been able to hold that monster back, and bought the time my father had needed to strip his protections and tear him apart with magic..." She stopped walking for a moment and took in a long shuddering breath as she composed herself.

...

* * *

When Kivan heard footsteps, he slipped out of reverie almost immediately and placed a hand over his longbow. Then he registered the lightness of the pattering footfalls beneath the sound of rain, and so relaxed.

He stretched his neck by tilting his head to either side. Moments later, a human girl no older than eight or nine poked her head up into the hay loft. She pushed her hood back, looked about, and then smiled on seeing him.

"I brought lunch!" she whispered excitedly, and then climbed into the loft holding a bundle of food.

Kivan straightened and then rose to meet her. He took the bundle and peered inside. Realizing the offerings would most likely be discovered and questioned, he felt around himself for a belt purse. No luck. Bandits. Kidnapping.

He patted the girl on the head and then turned about and flit up beside where Viconia was sleeping in the hay bales. She stirred, but he was able to obtain a few gold pieces and silver so that the family might be more than compensated. He turned and offered them to the girl.

"Oh you don't have to give me that. One good deed deserves another, that's what my da always said."

Kivan took her hand, opened the palm, and put the coins inside.

The girl giggled a little shyly and then studied the coins with some amazement, She had only ever handled copper in her life. After a moment, she tucked the treasures into her blouse.

"Do you know my aunt wouldn't believe the story? Then I asked her how I and Mara got here, and auntie just waggled her arms in the air and huffed and puffed and told me to hush. Like it was magic, or something! Well I guess there was some magic, hehe, but I didn't just mysteriously poof here; there were perfectly sound explanations!"

He grunted. Kivan had no particular talent with children; They tended to make him feel slightly awkward with all of their questions. At least this one reminded him of Imoen, and did not appear to need much input.

"Hehe, you're really quiet. I like you, you listen! I always thought people who like telling stories needed friends who liked listening to stories." Kivan took a solemn moment to contemplate this innocent wisdom. "Well, I need to do my chores," she told him. "Take care of her, okay? No one seems to like her. Or, uh, even hearing about her..."

Kivan's mouth tugged to the side.

"Promise me? Please?"

Kivan sighed slightly.

The girl giggled again and then headed back to the ladder that she might climb down from the loft.

Kivan watched her go and then turned back to look at Viconia. He could still see images of Araushne's fall in his mind, and his fingers trembled with a lingering anxiousness from the contents of his reverie.

_"Move,"_ he had told her the evening before, once they had faked a return to the Juggler and successfully cleared Beregost's perimeter. _"Walk ahead of me. We will see this farmstead you have mentioned. If you are lying, I will execute you then and there."_

He had expected fear, a fight, or a betrayal; he had anticipated her request to return to the Fist, or a retraction of her statements. He had expected yet another exposure of her lying, manipulative nature. But Viconia had straightened up and eyed him long and hard, and then soon they had found themselves traveling steadily northward.

They had reached the farmstead before dawn, where lit lamps and a crying baby suggested an infant was in a choleric mood. An older girl had been out fetching water, and had seen them coming out of the woods Viconia hadn't said a word to the her; but the child had taken one look at her yellow cloak and black skin and then rushed into her arms.

And that had been that.

_Drow. Drow, drow, drow, drow, drow, drow-_

He walked slowly up to where Viconia was sleeping. He stared at her: at her demonic skin and her colorless hair. She looked like little more than an elf's bones and flesh from which all life had been drained, and whose blood was now but liquid poison.

The wild elf grimaced. He should not have taken her out of Beregost. He ought to have let the Fist have her, as was the original plan.

_"You ungrateful cur!"_

_"Take care of her, okay?"_

_"-Lady of Loss-"_

_"Only through the destruction of the drow can one find absolution of the spirit and begin to live anew."_

_"I am a healer."_

_"I will give you her heart."_

Kivan looked away, his face drawn in frustration. If he stared at her much longer, he was going to put a broadhead between her temples; and now there were at least two young women who would never forgive him for it.

...

* * *

Imoen woke up with a yawn and looked sleepily across the room. She was a little cramped and sleeping half off the cot. Nails slid over her sleeve as she accidentally woke the dozing Red Wizard behind her.

"What time is it?" she mumbled sleepily. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been permitted to wake up naturally; someone usually had her up and breakfasting not long after dawn.

{Noon?} a Thayvian postulated.

{Is today Lazy Day?} she hoped.

{Mn. It has thus been praenomened,} he concluded tiredly as he adjusted his position. {Now go back to sleep.}

She closed her eyes and nestled back into his shoulder. Linen. That reminded her. {Should we go winter clothes shopping in like an hour?}

{Nnh... 'Go out where it is cold and raining' or... 'Stay under this warm blanket'... Hrm...}

{You could do both!} Imoen entertained the notion of Edwin Odesseiron bundled up in a quilt with the tail end dragging on the ground, walking about in public like a sleepy toddler. He snorted and she giggled. {I'll lend you my cloak, cranky Dragon. You owe me new archery bracers, anyway.}

The Red Wizard gave a martyred sigh but lifted a hand. She clasped it briefly, and the shopping trip was agreed to.

As for how exactly the two of them had ended up sharing a cot; that was a topic best saved for another day entirely.

...

* * *

Xan opened his eyes slowly to behold a wonderful surfeit of clerical bosom. Arms cradling him, and a thumb rested tenderly over his ear. He was warm, and the morning was quiet with rain.

"Hey," a soft brogue murmured into his hair when she noticed him. "You awake?"

For a moment, no words came to him; he had not energy to speak. Then the gentle caresses, moving back and forth across the length of his ear, stirred him to motion. He breathed deep and then, "Bran," he acknowledged quietly. Her lips touched the top of his head. He closed his eyes again.

"You want to be getting some hot drinks and maybe a spot of breakfast?" she suggested tenderly.

He looked slowly over to the window. It was nearly impossible to tell what time it might be with the rain, but it felt much later than breakfast time. Somehow, the idea that Branwen had foregone a meal in order to cuddle him, made his heart fill near bursting. He took in a quavering breath and then he nodded. "I like that idea," he whispered.

...

* * *

"The frequency with which your party gets into trouble is somewhat alarming," Kelddath confessed as he came up to examine the green-robed man. Xzar, free of facepaint and tattoos, was remarkably innocuous-looking for a man who just so happened to be a Deathstalker necromancer. It probably helped the price-point they received. "A pity you have not your enchanter this morning..." His brows furrowed. "_Who_, exactly, has done this? This is no small charm..."

"Well we can't exactly ask him," Aegis replied, looking nervously at Xzar. He was starting to quivver. "But if I had to place money anywhere, I'd bet on a Zhent priest of Cyric."

If Kelddath had possessed any misgivings, they faded in light of her explanation. "That explains this elaborate and... somewhat crazed-looking handiwork. I will have to be careful not to trip anything..."

Aegis shifted her weight. "Can you remove it?"

He blinked rapidly and then grinned almost smugly. "Undo the handiwork of a priest of Cyric? _Absolutely_. Any day of the week. Mn. I will throw my preparation wards and circles for free. He should experience _some_ relief from these..." he took careful note of the necromancer's shaking, "symptoms as I finish them." He turned and gestured to one of his Sirines and several of his acolytes.

"How long will it take?"

"It will be done before mass. Still, you should step outside. And remain calm; he will be fine."

Aegis looked to Xzar, who nodded shakily to get her to leave.

...

* * *

Aegis kept pacing nervously, despite any and all instructions to remain calm.

"Two thousand, seven hundred and fifty cold," Jaheira noted. "And we yet have our Shillmistan's fingers to repair. We might think of raising funds when everyone has had time to recover."

Aegis kept pacing.

Jaheira sighed. "I believe Imoen has something to tell you about meeting Montaron on her last trip from Beregost. We should speak with her when she wakes."

Still pacing.

The half-elf tried again: "We were able to get into contact with some of Gorion's old traveling partners, a half orc and a sun elf. It seems Gorion was traveling with Griswold Winthrop around the time he adopted you. If Winthrop didn't disclose anything in his letters to Imoen, it seems it's quite a sensitive truth."

"Then let's not talk about it out here in the open," Aegis kept pacing.

Khalid tilted his head to the side. Then he straightened. "D-did you l-learn something?" he wondered shrewdly.

"I know what sort of man is after me, and why. Xzar figured it out within weeks of meeting me," she replied. "He just couldn't articulate it clearly for awhile. It's past due I spoke with you and Imoen both."

Khalid and Jaheira straightened in surprise. The druid stepped forward. "When did _this_ happen!?"

"Just after Nashkel, when my dreams got worse. I woke up screaming and he talked me through it."

"Dreams-?" Jaheira was confused. Khalid's countenance darkened as he thought back to old conversations. He looked at the ground a moment, and then up at Aegis. "Why didn't you say anything!?"

"She was afraid of w-what we would think," Khalid said. Jaheira looked at him in surprise. Aegis stopped pacing.

Jaheira frowned and shook her head. "That is foolish. Why would she be frightened of _us_?"

Khalid's gaze didn't leave Aegis as he shrugged gently. "Why was Gorion?" he asked rhetorically.

Aegis looked back at the two Harpers. She looked unsteady and conflicted for a moment. Then she turned and came up to the half-elves and stopped before Khalid. She loomed over the slender fighter for a moment. Without another word, she seized him under the arms, hoisted him high off the ground, and hugged him to her. Khalid squeaked in surprise. He grasped at her shoulders in confusion for a moment; then he registered what she had done, and his expression melted. He threw both arms tightly around her neck and bowed his forehead to her hair, and he squeezed her with all the fierce love an uncle had to give.

"We were sort of in a rush," Aegis's voice was muffled against his tunic, "so I may have forgotten to tell you how much I missed you."

Khalid might as well have been oozing clouds of tiny pink hearts. Jaheira's face melted from confusion and disappointment into a laughing smile. After a moment, she came forward and Aegis supported her stolen uncle one-handed so she could throw the other arm around her auntie.

...

* * *

When an acolyte appeared, Aegis quickly stepped up to learn what the result had been. She needn't have worried; Xzar appeared moments later, leaning heavily on the threshold.

"_Moaratuk_," he croaked eagerly, eyes bright. She reached out to steady him as he stumbled forward to her. He was no longer shaking, and he looked like he couldn't figure out whether to wail or laugh. "I... forgive this frazzled wizard a moment's inappropriate reaction, but _ooohhhhhhh_ do I feel _gooooddd_," he purred, sinking into her bosom with a relieved expression.

"You're cured?" she asked for clarification.

"Mnhmmmm," he necromancer mumbled happily.

She scowled and grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. "You led me to them! You _ate_ part of my leg! Smiling like a _loon_ the whole time!"

His eyes flew open wide. "But I didn't want to!" he protested in alarm. "I couldn't help but smile- _Muurnakh saildulk byatshkan moaratuk!-_ do you not realize how _hard_ it was to work myself up for that!? I threw a fit when I read the orders and told Montaron I'd rather die than do it and then I nearly killed him but then he is the one who helped me with the strength potion plan but they invoked the geas and I wasn't sure it would work and even then I nearly vomited when the signal came and it was that piece of black felt you found wedge in the door by the way- and- Look, look, I'm shaking just thinking about it!" He offered her his arms for examination.

Aegis glowered suspiciously at his shaking hands and then at him.

"Well _that_ was an abrupt piece of exposition," Kelddath noted with a grimace as he stepped out of the room. "Care to explain exactly _who_ cursed you?"

Xzar blinked repeatedly. "The morninglord requests precision? This wizard supposes it is in his power to give. Very well, I was cursed by Dhamir Ercals. Wait, I should probably explain who that is. I was specifically geased as part of a particularly horrible ritual, conducted by a strifeleader at Darkhold, who was serving immediately under Sememmon. There. There, that should be sufficient. Yes? No?"

Kelddath blinked in alarm, for it had not escaped his notice that Xzar was a Mooneye. "What were you doing in _Darkhold_?!"

Xzar's eyes widened, and he got a very far-away look. "Trying to get back _out _again," he answered in a very small voice.

Aegis pulled the necromancer close to her and pet reassuringly over his hair. "The geas is gone now. Right?" she asked, and Kelddath's face softened at the implication of trauma, healing, and elaborate friendships.

"It is," he answered. "Though if I were you, and knowing that he has angered fiends of such a nature, I would sleep with one eye open at night."

"Thank you, morninglord," Jaheira attempted to extract them so they could all get back to the inn without mentally violating any poor Lathanderites. Xzar, loathsome as he might have been, clearly had some interesting things to say to them now.

"I th-think we n-need to get him a cup of tea," Khalid agreed, already tugging the ranger along; as by then he was starting to understand how the necromancer functioned.

"The dungeons in Zhentil Keep were nicer," Xzar was whispering in a tiny voice into his ranger's shoulder. "There... there were more stones to... to talk to..."

...

* * *

[Author's Note: Still **Present Day**]

Gorion had, understandably, retreated to his quarters in the Song of the Morning Temple and cracked open a bottle of Sembian red. He'd followed his little family 'unit' to the door and watched as they'd disappeared back into Beregost. Then, helpless and miserable, he'd retreated back into his own little 'cell.' He was surrounded on all sides by books and papers stacked in piles.

The old wizard pushed back his hood and drained his first cup of wine like a tumbler of water. He got halfway through a second, and then cast his gaze over his buried desk and disappearing cot.

Tension and heat streaked across his face. His eyes squinted and he took in a shaking breath. He lifted a shaky hand to his face. Then a wave of despair, of _misery_ stung through him. He crumpled in on himself, and a sob burst out from his throat.

Damn Elminster. Damn Helm. Damn Lathander, and Mystra, and Cyric; Damn _Bhaal_. Damn the unfeeling gods, that they would somehow judge it _acceptable_ to do this to a man: to bring him back to life and then forbid him from interfering.

_Oghma help me. I can't- I can't... do this anymore...! _He lowered his head, sobbing hard and covering his face.

"Ain't it a bit early ta be gettin' inta yer cups?"

His eyes flew open wide. He lifted his head and looked up to where his halfling was leaning in the doorway and buffing her nails.. "_Where_ have you _been!_?" he whispered desperately, scrambling out of his chair to gape down at her.

Tallix eyed him lazily. "Told ye I'd bumped into a relative who needed help," she reminded him.

Gorion looked back at her, his fingers clenched tightly against the cup. His hair was unruly, with silver feathers jutting out in a disorganized mane. "Yes. Coincidental timing," he noted faintly.

Tallix uncrossed her arms, considering the old stork. "Ye look..." she hesitated. "Are ye okay, Feathers?"

He shook his head, listing slightly and then grabbing hold of the chair back to steady himself. "I asked for your help." He looked at his cup and then an incredibly sickly-looking smile split the length of his face, and he loosed a giggle that seemed involuntary. "I... contacted a _Deathstalker_ at the height of the Bhaalspawn Crisis."

Tallix frowned and stood upright as Gorion covered his hand with a face.

The wizard's posture crumpled and a noise halfway between a cry and a laugh trickled from behind his splayed fingers. "I-I- I've lost my mind-!" he concluded brightly.

The halfling's good eye widened and she quickly stepped into the room that she might reach him. The wizard shied from her and she winced. "Lad, ye need ta sit down; ye look a wreck."

"The Zhentarim nearly killed my daughter," he uttered. "And you..." he looked down at her with dark eyes, "you... you _knew _it was going to happen... didn't you?"

"I didn't go and stand back and eat my fish and chips while watchin em'!" she scolded him. "I placed a word here, a word there, and it turned out fine!"

"You said _nothing_ to me!" he shouted viciously.

"Aye! Cause o' I had to leave ye alone for a bit! What ye have done differently if ye'd known, eh!?" his halfling demanded. "Best ye coulda done was wrung yer hands in a corner over a scrying mirror till ye died of an aneurysm!"

"This is my _daughter's life_!" he screamed at her.

"Which is how I know ye would have rushed in ta save her and gotten yerself damned!" the short woman accused. "An fer no bloody reason, because look: she's still alive! Fancy that- why it's almost as if I knew what I was doing!"

That was a valid argument, but Gorion was not feeling reasonable. He stepped back from her, shaking his head violently. "You mislead me and withheld your actions from me, Gods above and below... How did I get distracted from your true colors _again_ by pretenses of friendship!?"

Tallix's face darkened and she pursed her lips. This was an old and useless pattern of argument. "I remember we done moved past this o'er a decade ago," she huffed. "The hell is gotten in ta ye?

"There are things which cannot be 'moved past'!" he spat, and then he turned shakily towards the cell window and staggered up to it. "Get out. Get _out_; Is it any wonder the daughter's judge of character is so poor if the man who raised her was such an _imbecile_-!?"

"Gorion," Tallix Snapdragon growled. "You look at me, and you look at me right now," she ordered.

"Go back to whatever pit you crawled out of-!" he hissed.

"GORION!" she bellowed in a roar that belied her small frame. He twisted about, startled, to see the ugly scowl on her face. She stomped up to him, though each footfall was as silent as shadow. "Ye dare prattle on like that!?" she reproached him. "When mayhaps yer the only one the whole world over that knows better!?" She grabbed his arm. He hissed and tried to pull back from her but, even at her venerable age, Tallix was much stronger than she looked. She twisted his forearm sharply and pulled, nearly tugging him into a fall. His wine sloshed, spinning over his hand and onto the floor. He scarcely noticed it. "You-!"

Her fingers choked up to his wrist, and then she took his fingers in both of her hands. Her hands were small and her fingers were short next to his; better for manipulating tiny objects than calligraphy or spells. She pet gently over the curve of his thumb. "Feathers," she intoned, silencing him. The aasimar frowned shakily down at her. His hands were twitching, she realized; They were fingers which demanded never to be idle, and now they had nothing to do.

"I left ye alone here, in yer own head," she realized suddenly, "with nae ta do but _think _all day, dinnae I? "

Gorion pressed his lips together and swallowed. His trembling worsened; and then he suddenly blurted: "This is an isolated cell block... and- and I am just a _ghost_." The wine goblet tumbled from his fingers and he lifted his hand meekly to his face. His voice went thin. "I should be dead... I should be dead... It would be easier to be dead..."

Tallix's lips parted and she stepped into his space, lifting her hands up along his arms. His posture was so hunched that she could reach his face. He struggled through sniffles and whimpers as her thumbs passed over his ragged beard and jawbone. "... We're getting ye out of here," she told him after a moment. "Ye need ta be doin' sommat."

"Where would I go and what would I do?" he mumbled, his voice trembling with unshed tears. "This is the safest place I can be near her. Elminster has cautioned me not to leave-!"

Tallix shook her head and stood on her toes that she might gently tap the aasimar's nose. "Ya leave that ta Old Auntie, lad. I'll come up with sommat. First, though, we need ta give ye someplace ta anchor yer head before ye go batshit crazy. So make an anchor of me: cast a geas."

He looked at her. "What?"

"Have me swear an oath I will nae harm yer girl, nor stand by idly n' allow her to be harmed. And I'll accept it: what e'er terms ya ask o' me. _Please_. I trust ye Rion, and I'm on your side. But if I'm ta help ya, I need ta give ye some means o' trusting _me _back. I know exactly why else it would be hard."

Gorion reeled slightly. He stared down at the halfling's worn face, stunned. A moment passed in silence between them. Then he sank to his knees. Tallix blinked in surprise and then stepped forward again as he reached out to touch her. He hugged her. He pressed his face into her shoulder with a surprising fierceness, his eyes pressed tightly shut. Tallix blew out a hard sigh and then returned the embrace, slipping her forearms around the back of his neck. She ruffled through his unkempt and gratuitously feathered hair.

"How long's it been since ya've _bathed, _Ri?" she asked him wryly as she dislodged a good handful of stray and broken feathers.

He shuddered. "Why you?" he moaned weakly, and it sounded as if he had finally started to cry. "How have I come out of all of this with _you_?"

She slipped her arm back around him and squeezed, pressing her chin to his hair and rocking her weight slightly. "Nh. On account o' we both know what it's like to give everythin' up for our kids. And we ain't got anyone else ta talk ta about it, or ta help get the ugly truths off our chests. Easy now, Rion," she entreated with surprising tenderness. "Take it easy..."

...

* * *

* I have used 'praenomened' as an alternative for 'christened' for obvious reasons!


	13. Opposites

_**Opposites**_

...

* * *

When Gorion was bathed and while his hair was still damp, Tallix took a wide-toothed comb through the gray locks in order to dislodge a nest of stray feathers and a large sum of tangles. The aasimar's hair was silky and smooth in texture, and it was not particularly arduous work. _Has nicer hair near sixty than I did at sixteen, _she mused, her mouth quirking. _Nicer skin, too. _

Her wizard did not speak through this procedure, holding still for her with his hands in his lap. She smoothed down length of his hair to even it out and then cut it easily with a straight-edged knife. She repeated the process. When his hair was even, she gathered up some soap and water and then sat herself down on the desk in front of him. She worried the distracted and feather-brained man might maim himself shaving if she gave him one of _her_ blades.

He watched her as she applied a lather and he did not protest her grooming him. It seemed he might be desperate for contact with anyone. She glanced momentarily at his expression before focusing back on the shave. The hin woman hadn't been inside his personal space for a very long time. He was still handsome, she noted, and still much younger than she. His stare was the same: Tallix had always felt Gorion's gaze came off as unintentionally harsh and cold. The icy color seemed a little unnatural, and she wagered he'd inherited it from whatever angel his bloodline had sprung from.

She set the razor aside and set to dabbing his face free of lather. She decided to trim the goatee and sideburns, and reached back for her knife at her side. It wasn't where she expected to be. Tallix paused, startled, and looked hesitantly down at her hand and then up at Gorion.

Gorion raised, and then slowly glanced to the side. She saw that she'd set the razor down beside the water bowl. Her face fell and she looked up at him in dismay.

"I just had an old person moment," she complained.

At that, he could not help but smile slightly. "I think we all have those," he whispered hoarsely. "Even when we are young."

"Nae, that were _terrible_," she sighed, picking up the razor that she might finish the grooming job. "I lost track of a _knife_... I hope the kids'll still tolerate me when I'm a senile old bag and breakin' out of me bedroom to go stab rosebushes to death."

For a moment, nothing came to Gorion as she finished. Then he tilted his head to the side. "There was a point during our relationship at which you were not a senile old bag? When? I clearly wasn't paying attention."

Tallix blinked up at him in surprise and then her eyes shuttered and she gave a one-sided grin. "Watch it, Ri," she chastised, cleaning off her razor and then sheathing it.

"Ah, my venerable friend, it is part of your charm," the old monk confessed, some of his spirit coming back to him. "Along with being inexplicable gaunt for a halfling, of course. The disheveled appearance, croaking voice, and tobacco-induced wrinkling were only ever icing on the cake."

She planted her hands on her hips. "I'm waiting for a 'but,'" she informed him. "And if it ain't comin', I'mma hit you so hard yer grandmammy will feel it and come investigate."

"Nh, don't tempt her." He considered her with shuttered eyes. "You know, I was _sure_ you'd gain a few pounds in Luiren..."

"Aye? Well! Thanks for volunteering ta be the party cook," she countered. "Ye can pick up laundry duty too while yer at it. Mind ye, I've got this rash that sorta oozes somethin' foul now-a-days," she made to scratch, "but ye can clean the stains with a bit of ammonia and lemon, I'm sure."

The wizard chuckled. "Well, we are in a house of healing," he called her bluff. His face smoothed out. "You really intend on us leaving?" He felt excitement; he felt trepidation. "To do what?"

Her wry mouth quirked. "Got a few relevant ideas." She made to rise. Ye should organize what spells ye want for the road, and gather anything ye'll need. I'll go into Beregost and pick up a few things."

He caught her arm. "Tallix," he breathed urgently.

She looked back up at him and waited a moment, before it became clear he didn't know what to say but also did not want her to leave yet. After a moment's contemplation she settled back onto the desk, took his hand from her arm, and had a look at his nails. With a glance at him, she pulled out her nail buffer. "Ye want em short or filed ta caster's points?"

He watched her intently. "Short," he whispered.

...

* * *

It was still early morning when Aegis and the Harper duo returned to the Jovial Juggler. Aegis took Xzar by the arms and tried to calm him down from his fit while Khalid went to get all of them food and drinks. Jaheira sighed, blatantly disapproving of her niece's choice in sexual partner, but saying nothing.

"I met a cousin once upon a time while talking to the stones," the necromancer was babbling quietly in a high tenor. "Deaths should heed his thin skin; merely a cocoon!"

Aegis noted the wizard's hands were healing well. She glanced briefly at his face and then brushed gently over the welts he'd left in biting his fingers. She stepped closer to him, drawing his hands up for her examination.

"Then again, not; a cocoon equates to metamorphosis of an individual; not a slow gradient transition from entropy of one to rejuvenation of another. Perhaps rather than a chrysalis, instead the victim of a parasitoid wasp?"

She took two fingers and began caressing as lightly as she was able up and down the heel of his palm.

"Or more abstractly the injection of pigment into the yolk of a... a..." The necromancer's screwed up in greater and greater estrangement as he spoke. Then he took in a sharp breath and a shudder rippled down the length of his spine. His posture deflated and his brows furrowed upwards in hazy uncertainty.

Aegis eyed him knowingly. "Can you hear me?" she asked when she was sure she had his attention. He swallowed, registering her voice.

"I.. for-forgive me, Moaratuk," he murmured in a lower voice. "I seem to have wandered off for a moment." His gaze lingered on her hands, astonished to be doted on so gently and so sensually by such a rough and vivacious woman. When had this started? Had she learned it from _him_?

The ranger shrugged tolerantly, and closed her hands about his. "A normal state of affairs," she reminded him. "If you are stable, then you need to start answering our questions. When was this geas cast?"

"Three years ago," Xzar responded automatically, enthralled- as usual- by the energizing touch of her bared skin, and the warm darkness of her shadow. He took in a slow breath to compose himself and then looked up at her. "Rest assured I shall be forthcoming. I cannot describe how... relieved... I feel. To have that blasphemous oath out from under my skin..."

"What _were _you sworn to?" she asked, releasing his fingers. "Were you compelled to obey it at any other time which we should know about?"

His eyes half-closed and he gave a slight wave of both hands. "Yes and no; let me explain." He took a deep breath. "My release from Darkhold was requested by a sub-faction of _ex-Banite_ and now largely secular mages. In order to appease my jailers, these mages convinced me to accept a muzzle: the geas. And when I swore to obey the high clerics of Cyric, I was actually promising not to _harm_ them. Which is actually quite flattering, now that I think about it. Hmm.

"Well. In any event, the geas was not performed so that they could _commandeer_ me out from under my proper superiors, or disregard the entire working hierarchy in which they exist. Strongarming this order down to me is but one more provocation in a long line of questionable and destabilizing moves by Darkhold this year. I surmise it must demonstrate how _insecure_ they are."

Jaheira frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. "What do you mean?" she asked. "This attack was conducted by mages and priests, and was clearly the work of the Zhentarim."

Xzar turned to her in exasperation. "The-" He bit back on his words for a moment, temporarily overcome by the fact that he was telling this to a Harper. Then he hissed in abandon and forged onward anyways: "Then Zhentarim is on the brink of civil war," he uttered. "If were to happen _now_, we would drag half the Realms down with us. Cyric would no doubt enjoy the gigantic free-for-all, no matter how catastrophically we'd implode. I'm sure we'd kill plenty of his enemies in the process, given that his enemies are, well, _everyone_!"

The Harper woman straightened in surprise, surprised to hear something of this nature from the necromancer. Firstly, she had never pegged the madman as _political; _and secondly, he was being startlingly frank about the Zhentarim's internal affairs.

Xzar looked to Aegis, his countenance darkening as he kept his voice very low. "But I _know_ what is going on under the surface, even if those fool _strifeleaders_ are too busy stabbing things to notice. Cyric wants to stop Bane from returning, but he_ won't_ be able to; he won't be able to because he is incompetent and_ insane._ He will be foiled by mortal men; men too old and too careful to make the wrong moves; men who will hold the core of the Zhentarim together until they have a god of their own with which to stand firm. They compose a different sub-faction, my Deva, and you are taking tremendous strain off of them by investigating iron crisis. Do you see the distinction?"

The ranger frowned, her brows drawing together as she thought about this.

"You would have us believe that Aegis' life was thrown into danger because of _divine politics_?" Jaheira whispered incredulously. "You speak of resurrecting _gods? _To what end would you feed us this tosh? So she might continue working with _certain _Zhent agents and put herself in danger again?

Xzar looked back at the Harper with a serpentine sneer. "Oh madam, how _little_ you know."

Jaheira's brows narrowed. "Aegis, this is not only absurd but dangerous," she growled. "The Zhentarim is a mercenary organization long reviled for its unspeakable acts. What does it matter _what_ evil god they worship? Their life's blood is black either way."

"There are as many dark colors as there are bright ones," Xzar retorted. "Does it comfort you, to carry such a clear and childish concept of good and evil?"

"I am not going to listen to this when you are the one who-"

He interrupted her with remarkably lucid exposition. "Zhentil Keep _always_ paid homage to the God of Tyranny; it was from he and his brothers that most of the Moonsea drew its strength. The Dead Three were ruthless, but they were practical and focused. Even boring, sometimes." He sighed dramatically and flicked his hands. "But now they have _all _been replaced by a mad knave who siphons his strength from terror, disorder, betrayal, intrigue, and slaughter. Knowing that, you somehow _doubt_ Cyric's ascension has had a tremendous negative effect on our regional stability?"

Jaheira scowled. "Even if what you say is true, I fail to see what any of it has to do with Aegis!"

"And I am sure that is not all you fail to see," the necromancer agreed haughtily before turning away from the insignificant harpy and looking back towards his ranger. "Moratuk, this wizard wishes to speak with you in private, that he might share further observations."

"No," Aegis retorted sharply, startling him for a brief moment before explaining: "_You_ nearly killed me; and you should feel lucky that no one successfully killed you."

Xzar had apparently forgotten that detail entirely, because he recoiled from her as suddenly as if he'd been stabbed. Then the man's eyes widened, his lips parted, and his brows furrowed upward mournfully. "I... I... yes," he realized. He bit his lower lip. "Yes, you are right... I... I _did_." He breathed out a shuddering breath. "B-but you must know that I-I-"

She continued: "And I will be telling them the truth later this morning, just as soon as Imoen wakes."

A startled and disapproving hiss tore out from his chest, and he reached forward to cup her cheeks. "The fewer people who know about you-" She grabbed his wrists painfully to deny him the caress, and his eyes widened as she glared down at him.

"-the more I'm left alone to deal with _your_ incredibly sordid past!" she completed bitterly. "Don't you think you've forfeited the right to advise me on the matter!?"

He shrunk and flinched downward. "I'd never meant-... Aegis, Th-this wizard only wants for your safety-"

"Khalid and Jaheira are my father's closest and oldest friends, and I trust them. Utterly. _Much_ more than I ought to trust _you_."

The necromancer tried to muster a reply, gaping up at her with a wounded expression etched in his features. Then the weight of the situation seemed to sink into his bones, because he closed his eyes and deflated tremendously with his next breath. A moment passed in silence. Then he bowed his head in understanding.

_"Of course,"_ he acknowledged tonelessly, not in her native Thorasta but instead in Auld Thari, the proper language behind Zhentarim Argot. _"I betrayed you; a sin deserving death or exile. Do not think me ignorant of that, or ungrateful for the patience you have already shown me in extracting these answers. Whatever you deem fit to do with me, or with the knowledge I have led you to, I shall accept as my lot. "_

Aegis frowned down at her necromancer's tousled hair. She could feel his pulse through where his slender wrists were trapped beneath her fingers; and she knew his heart was racing. Soft trembles radiated up through his skin. She closed her eyes for a moment and then let out a heavy sigh. Jaheira raised a brow, surprised by the unrecognizable language.

Then Khalid had returned with their food. Aegis glanced at her uncle, released the necromancer's hands and grasped the latter's shoulder firmly. "Eat," she told the subdued wizard as she directed him to his seat.

They had been sitting down for no longer than a scant five minutes when the front door to the inn flew open, and an enormous Rashemi men leaped through the tavern to stand before them.

"Feisty One is GONE!" he boomed in horror.

Aegis gaped. She shared a look with Jaheira, and then the two of them looked back at Minsc.

"W-what?" Khalid had the good sense to ask and, for once, someone paid attention to him.

"Gone!" Minsc wailed in repeat. "Last night we gathered up our gear in secret, but then the Fiesty One told Minsc to turn back and cast a spell to make herself invisible! He flailed his enormous arms about, reminding Aegis of Imoen and Xzar both. "Boo and Minsc tried to track her, but we lost her at the river!"

Aegis and Jaheira shared another look. Then the two women stood rapidly. Aegis threw down her eating utensils with a frustrated clatter and shouted: "Can't I just have _one day_ without _drama_!?" She faced Minsc. "Show us to where you've lost her!"

...

* * *

Branwen and Xan looked to be eating their first meal of the day when Imoen finally stumbled downstairs, an expression of sleepy contentment written on her face. She had a Thayvian not far behind her, and he went to order food as she came up to their table.

"This is like my birthday came early," the thief drawled happily. "I got to sleep past _noon_." She plopped into the booth beside Xan, and leaned her elbows on the table and her cheek on her hands.

"Good morning, Imoen," he greeted after wiping his mouth neatly clean of pea soup. He didn't look at her. Branwen waved merrily past a mouthful of grits and gravy.

Imoen frowned and straightened up slightly. She considered the elf for a moment. "You look... " the thief searched for a word, "_less_ gray this morning," she finally settled on. Xan glanced at her. "Though, are... are we fighting again?" she asked sadly.

He hesitated for a moment, and then interlaced his fingers in his lap. "No. I am quiet for other reasons."

"Oh." She hesitated. "Well, then... Can, uh, can I give you a hug?"

The enchanter deliberated on this for a moment. Then he nodded, and Imoen scooted closer to give him a good one. He was nearly unresponsive for a moment, and then he turned and wrapped both arms around her and squeezed her tightly. Imoen gave a small 'oof' and then she giggled, startled by the sudden realization that Xan was most likely _stronger_ than her.

"As I failed to express it yesterday, permit me to make up for things now," he whispered in a hollow voice. "We were so worried about you, Imoen."

She gave a big, heavy sigh. "_Tell_ me about it. It was pretty awful on my end, too. Hey, I didn't know you could project telepathy through a scrying attempt like that; that was pretty cool. And sweet Oghma, that _dragon_. You _gotta_ tell me how you guys did that. That was _so awesome._"

Xan smiled almost painfully, and pet over her disobedient pink hair. "I ought to rebuke you, but then find myself asking: _what is the point_?" he sighed dramatically. "It's not like you _ever_ listen. Seldarine, I am so glad you are safe..."

Edwin came up to them and glanced at Imoen before settling down two plates. He took the seat beside Branwen, as it was the only one yet remaining.

Xan and Branwen both looked at him. Edwin grimaced slightly. Imoen squealed 'food!' and attacked her plate. The conjurer glanced briefly at her and then shook his head and stabbed up his omelette. He didn't say anything to anyone, and scarcely looked up from his food.

Breakfast was resumed, awkwardly. Xan and Imoen spoke; the former haltingly, the latter with food-induced bliss. Branwen chimed in now and then. Imoen finished her pancakes and fruit, and picked up her lemon tart.

The Red Wizard's gaze flit up to her as she bit into the pastry. A frown appeared at the curve of his brows and the corner of his mouth, and his fork paused.

"Ooh! There's blueberry in the middle," the pink girl cooed in surprise, inspecting the tart. "It's sweet! It's creative! It's delicious! Sweet, delicious creativity! Mwa! The cook needs some kind of award!"

Edwin lowered his eyes lowered back to his plate as if thinking. After a moment, his face seemed to relax somewhat. He tilted his head to the side and stabbed up another tidy mouthful of egg.

...

* * *

The weather had worsened as the day drew on. It couldn't quite be described as 'raining' so much as 'misting with a bitter droplet-filled vengeance.' Branwen described it more poetically as The Frost Breath of Auril.

Edwin waited near the staircase as Imoen dashed up to grab her things. No sooner had she vanished from sight that Xan pushed himself to a standing position and strode across the tavern floor to confront their ought-to-have-been-very-dead Red Wizard.

Edwin straightened, his fingernails splaying out as he tried to determine if Xan would cast on him. The enchanter sneered.

"You _kidnapped_ her," the elf growled low. "Her. Of all people, _her._ She who ought to have been the _one_ _person_ who was safe from you."

Edwin's face lit up briefly with surprise. "She _was_ safe with me," he spat. "(As if I had harmed the waif?)"

"This cheerfulness is out of character even for her dapper disposition; it is a reaction to a severe traumatic experience. _You kidnapped her._"

The conjurer's face soured, and his posture stiffened with defensive irritation. "I do not need this lecture from _you_, little mouse."

"You are getting it either way," the elf informed him, "as you have a _great_ deal to answer for, and you are being let off _far_ too easily."

Edwin scoffed dismissively. "I was correcting a misstep (which worked to this party's advantage, I might add) and I required my apprentice's aid. I hardly need to explain that further to anyone, much less to a hostile and melodramatic elf-"

He was interrupted, loudly, and with surprising force:

"Imoen does _NOT JUST BELONG TO YOU_!" the elf shrieked in frustration, and Edwin looked understandably taken aback for a brief moment; Xan seldom got so excited as to shout about anything. "She is the _heart_ of our party! She is our leader's soul surviving family member! You kidnapped _our Imoen_ and you are confused at the vehemence of our reaction!?"

The Red Wizard looked disturbed; as if he had no idea how to respond to such an emotionally oriented argument. He had clearly expected a more traditional stab at his morals. "S-she is _fine_!" he sputtered, angry and off balance. "As she well ought to be, after I all the trouble I went to of-"

"She is not 'fine'!" the enchanter spat. "Even discounting your deliberate abuse or neglect, she has suffered! She watched you betray her; she watched as her protector was _maimed; _the gods only know what else she watched! Anyone can see a shadow yet lingers behind her smile!"

Edwin sneered, his eyes widening in anger. "Your overactive imagination is hardly _my_ fault, elf! Do you honestly believe I would have let anything happen to her!?

"When you threw her over a horse saddle and carted her off to a bandit camp, you lost the benefit of my doubt!"

"As if I ever had it!" the Red Wizard half snarled and half laughed. "_You_ have been trying to kill me since Ulcaster! (You even shipped Imoen off to High Hedge so she could not get in the way of _killing me_!)"

"You were our enemy!"

"I was only ever Dynaheir's enemy!" Edwin retorted.

"And that makes you _our _enemy, because this is a _team_!" Xan snarled. "This isn't Thay, where allies bump one another off at the slightest provocation! Here we demand a modicum of loyalty!"

Edwin took a hostile step forward, looming over the tiny elf. The Red Wizard was half Mulani, and easily Branwen's height. "A team, you say?" he growled. "Yes. And tell me, little enchanter: while I was with 'the team' did _I _attack anyone in order to get to Dynaheir?"

Xan grimaced, stepping back. He thought of Dynaheir, and of the horrified and sickened look on the young witch's face. Dynaheir had been _overwhelmed. _"She made a mistake," The elf breathed, and he realized that he believed it.

"Yes. I see. A mistake. 'She didn't mean it, Edwin, she was stressed.' Fine; enjoy your quaint ideas, and forgive the woman's latest attempted murder. Nevermind you watched her throw a lightning bolt to punch through _Your Imoen's_ breast."

The elf winced but vehemently shook his head and pressed onward. "No. No, this is about _your _actions, Thayvian. Dynaheir's attack was reprehensible, but your actions were _monstrous." _

Edwin threw up his arms, but Xan advanced a step and did not back down.

"Even if I found it within my heart to absolve you of your _explicit_ sins, you are still an inexcusably irresponsible mentor. _Anything_ could have happened to Imoen as a function of this poorly-conceived plan. Any Black Talon whose cheek she'd singed with a wand could have put an arrow in her breast. Any of your _fellows_ could have grown impatient or interested in her."

"That did not happen," Edwin replied, once more in-control.

"Look into my eyes and tell me she was safe with you," the elf dared, his voice low. "Tell me _nothing_ happened to her: that no one touched her, that no harm befell her, and that she was never in any danger. Tell me she was safe from you, from them, and from her own fear."

Edwin's draconic expression faltered, anger overtaking his face as resentment or perhaps uncertainty glimmered briefly between the cracks.

Xan sneered, stepping back. "She never _consented_ to helping you," he told the human man. "And though she did inevitably do so, do not delude yourself into believing you _deserved_ it."

...

* * *

Gorion looked behind him (at the window this time) as Tallix returned carrying a fresh pack over her shoulder and a bundle of goods. She tossed both onto the cot and then set to untying the bundle.

"Picked up a fresh wardrobe for ye," she remarked, unraveling a thick winter chemise and men's hose.

He came over to investigate her purchases, his heart rate increasing at the realization that they would be leaving. He made no mention of how ardently Kelddath and Elminster had begged him not to leave the temple without their supervision. Instead he reached down and picked up the heavy robes she'd purchased, unraveling them.

"Mystra's Blue," he noted quietly. "Will I be recognizable in it?" At least the hem work and lining were black instead of white.

"It's a common color on any wizard," Tallix commented with a smirk. "Sometimes, hiding's best done in plain sight. And I'm thinking you need ta feel yerself when ye catch sight o' yer reflection."

He nodded quietly, gathering up the robes and picking up the other garments she'd purchased for him.

"Change into 'em now," she suggested. "And we'll be outta here by this afternoon. Sooner we're out of this church, the better."

The wizard looked at her in surprise. He opened his mouth to protest but then realized there was no reason to do so. He _did_ trust Tallix, and there was little point staying at the Song of the Morning to watch over Aegis if there was nothing he could do on her behalf. He took in a slow and steadying breath.

Tallix paused and then glanced behind her at the sound of shuffling cloth. She was just in time to watch Gorion pull the Acolyte's robes off over his head. The shift he was wearing underneath was thin to the point of translucency. _Probably should have offered ta step outside, _she recalled; but she said absolutely nothing to stop him as he pulled the shift off next.

If the wizard had put on weight after settling down, then he must have lost it over the last few months owed to anxiety and poor eating habits. His skin was as pale as ever, and he was _thin_. Too thin. He'd always been tall, but never so _skinny_. Well, she supposed he had gotten a good fourteen years older.

Tallix's brows furrowed. Gorion had always sported silver markings across his shoulder blades, where some ancestor had likely possessed wings. Now, however, the left marking was marred by a jagged, ugly brown scar. As he pulled on his fresh undergarments, she saw a twinned scar across his chest; and she realized Gorion had been impaled through the heart. It was his only new scar.

_Ye were dead before ye hit the ground, _she realized. A frown dragged low at her mouth. _And if it weren't for that old, meddlin' wizard going a hundred and eighty degrees against his Goddess' orders, ye'd still be dead. And I... Well I suppose no one would have even known ta tell me..._

"You are staring," the wizard informed her politely as he shrugged on the robes and began fastening them.

Tallix grunted and looked back to her purchases as his voice jolted her to reality. "It's no small feat to cut a through a man's scapula with a sword," she commented. "Musta been one hell of a weapon. Ye got any idea who killed ye, Feathers?"

"My memories of my death are a little fragmented, but from the comments I caught from Elminster, I'm sure it was either a Bhaalspawn or someone who had been trained to kill Bhaalspawn. Or, most likely, _both_." He looked down at her as she came up to him, and took the traveling socks and boots she offered him without question. He sat to don them.

"Might be something we want to figure out then," she noted. "Ye musta bit him back awful hard for him ta think she ain't worth the trouble of his time. Ae ain't that hard to find any more, even if she goes out roamin' unexpectedly; and if he's too busy ta wait around Beregost for a week, then it sounds like he's up ta some excitin' things we ought ta be knowin' about."

Gorion paused a moment, thinking. "Even if we learn anything, I can't intervene."

"See, yer thinkin too far ahead. Step one: obtain truth. Leave it at that fer now. Though, step two is most likely: quietly manipulate things using the smallest gestures possible in order to cause the truth to 'accidentally' fall into the right hands."

He took a long slow breath and then nodded. "Did you buy me gloves?"

Tallix gave a low chuckle.

He glanced up at her, and then saw she was rummaging in her own pack. After a moment she drew out elbow-length blue wizarding gloves and showed them to him. They appeared to be lined with fur and inscribed on the sides with temperature regulating dweomer. The fingers and palms were inscribed with useful conduit sigils. Buckled around the forearms were light and somewhat delicately carved looking bracers.

He sat up straight. "Where... did you...?" Then there was no mistaking it: the items she was holding were neither common nor cheap.

"Otch, I dunno. Might that I put in an order for them when I knew I'd be going to Athkatla, eh? I do _seem_ to remember knowing a wizard who has a thing for gloves... be it the dead of winter _or _the middle of a sweltering Flamesrule..."

Gorion looked up at her face. Then he scrambled out of his seat, snatching the gloves greedily from her. She barked a laugh as he gathered them up in his arms and ran his fingers appraisingly over them. The bracers were unmistakably _mithral_.

"Tallix..." he breathed in almost childish delight, his fears and concerns all momentarily suspended. "Please tell me you didn't... _kill_ anyone for these."

She chuckled, thoroughly pleased with herself._ Best use of plat I ever made: Spoiling a __depressed, __fifty-five year old, archmagus._ "Put em on Feathers; they're for you."

...

* * *

[Author's Note]

There are days I think this fic could be renamed _Aegis et al.'s __Guide to the Care and Feeding of Wizards._

Well we finally got some exposition from Xzar :)

Thank you, Thimble, for the idea of long nails being used by some wizards as an instrument of their craft. They were kept long by scribes in some cultures for ease with turning pages, and by some cultures in weaving/sewing, so I'm certain wizards could find them useful for working with a mystical force called 'The Weave'!


	14. Plain Sight

_**Plain Sight**_

...

* * *

Xan sipped his pea soup.

Branwen watched curiously after where a buoyant Pink and a storm-clouded Red hood had just left the tavern. "Well! I think you may of actually managed to score a hit on that stone-headed man," she remarked, turning an impressed expression back on the elf. "How do you feel, then?"

Xan considered the question and then sighed. "Calmer than I no-doubt sounded," he explained. "All manner of punishment and logical discussion have thus far proved ineffective in impacting him. Here, I attempted to leverage my distress in a targeted way, in the hopes that constraining my focus to a pinpoint might produce enough force to pierce something."

Branwen blinked dazedly. "So... is that you're way of saying you're trying to... help him?"

"I am attempting to decrease the blast radius when he, inevitably, makes his final mistake. Until that point, Imoen's benevolent stance makes direct opposition to him fruitless."

Branwen raised her brows in amusement. "Well, congratulations on word-punching him, either way," the cleric chuckled. "It looked even more satisfying than _actually_ _punching him_, which I will be the first to admit I had not expected."

Xan's mouth twitched, and his cyan eyes lightened up with mirth.

"How you feeling about everything else?" she broached the topic slowly.

"Better, Nildoen'nin. Better."

The two of them shared a warm and meaningful look for a short while, and only some time later did the two of them look up to see a very disheveled-looking Ajantis approaching their table with a modest breakfast in hand.

"May I sit?" he rasped.

Xan blinked slowly. Ordinarily, he would not have wanted the paladin within a ten-foot radius of himself _or_ Branwen, but this looked interesting. Branwen patted the seat beside her, and the paladin murmured a word of thanks.

"Have either of you seen Viconia this morning?" Ajantis asked as he broke his bread.

Branwen was confused. "Sorry, no. You haven't? Aren't you usually up with the dawn?"

Ajantis sighed heavily, raking a hand through his hair. "Shar-Teel," he mumbled quietly, as if he were ashamed and still couldn't believe himself.

Xan's lower jaw drooped, and his spoon dropped out of his hand with a splash and a clatter. Ajantis shifted uncomfortably and then tried to eat his breakfast. Xan continued to gape uncomprehendingly for a moment. Then a smile twitched at the enchanter's mouth, and he looked down at his lap to hide it.

"Well," Branwen concluded after extensive mental processing. "That must mean you like her?"

"I think that means I need to avoid ale," the young man moped. "As it clearly inhibits my judgement."

"And your vision," Xan added, trying so very hard not to laugh.

Ajantis grimaced into his food, chewed, and swallowed. "Shar-Teel has a wretched spirit, and I am dismayed by my lack of restraint; but she is not as ugly as everyone seems inclined to pretend-" He glanced up to see Xan was staring at him with shuttered eyes and a wry expression.

"That hangover must still be inhibiting your judgement," Xan reassured him in a purr.

Ajantis gave a sigh so heavy and deep that it almost gave Xan a run for his money. Then Officer Vai entered the tavern with four men in tow. Ajantis glanced over at them.

Disinterested self-pity held fast for the briefest of moments, before a memory bloomed up from the depths of his belly: of standing protectively over Xzar; swearing; and shouting out their cleric's ethnicity. _Vai had been in the room_.

Ajantis was out of the booth before Xan or Branwen had even registered the officer's presence. He strode directly up to the Flaming Fist. "Where is Viconia?" he demanded, hushed.

Vai straightened, and the dark circles under her eyes suggested that she had not slept. "I was just about to ask you the same thing, Amnite."

...

* * *

"Edwin, _that_ won't work," Imoen protested the garments he was attracted to as the shopkeeper busied with another client. "Look, it's got to be _much_ thicker. See?" She showed him a heavy woolen vest.

"_That_ both looks and feels _repulsive_," the conjurer growled dismissively, his hands still tucked under his arms for warmth for all that they were indoors. He'd refused to don her cloak of course, and looked adorably miserable.

Imoen gave a dramatic sigh and rolled her eyes. "Look, mister-spoiled-rotten, you are going to _layer_ your clothing. You'll have your robes on top, a heavy wool vest or doublet to keep you warm, and a good, breathable linen shift to protect your _highly pampered skin_ and wick away any sweat if the temperature shifts," she drawled.

"This wretched part of the world _would_ demand wretched textiles..." he grumbled.

Imoen threw a random tunic at him and he flinched in annoyance. "Nobles!" she accused. "Feel for a high thread count, then, or walk out of here cold and miserable!"

He sneered as if determined to be contrary. Imoen stuck her tongue out at him. She didn't ask what Xan had said to put him in such a bad mood, but she was pretty sure this reaction meant that Edwin had deserved it.

"Hmm, you're so tall," she mused, rummaging back through fabrics. Then her eyes alighted on a few aesthetically pleasing doublets, and she gravitated over to examine them. A few were probably too stiff; wizards needed a full range of motion with their arms. "How do you feel about fur?"

"The only creatures which ought to be running around in animal pelts," Edwin espoused as he shuffled after her, "are the beasts to whom they belong and the druids and barbarians who are not far removed from them."

"For the love of- It's the _interior_ _lining_, you racist peacock!" she chastised. "And it's rabbit fur! See? Soft, warm, and _way _less itchy than wool."

He eyed her suspiciously, and then leaned over to inspect what she had found. His face of disdain was ridiculously immature. "That is _yellow,_" he announced haughtily.

Gah! Imoen bounced in impatient staccato: "Oh my _gods _Ed-win, you are so vain and pick-y!" she complained. "Black is the easiest color in the world to dye _anything_! I'm just _basking_ in your intelligence right now, genius. How long do you want to wander around Beregost, freezing your ass off before you just _pick_ something? Ooh! I think I see a snowflake! I'mma run out and catch it and leave _you_ here to die of hypothermia!"

He scowled and snatched the garment from her. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!" He made sure the sleeves were long enough, and then he slipped the garment on over his linens just to test it.

Imoen stood back and tapped her cheek thoughtfully. Doublets were close-fitting jackets, and often needed a high degree of a personalized tailoring; but luck was with them that afternoon, and this garment seemed comfortably snug.

Edwin was tall, but he was neither exactly thin nor athletic. _Healthy_ would have been the proper word to describe him in comparison to Xan and Xzar. Edwin had good eating habits, a sturdy build, and enough meat on his bones to visualize his father as a warmage or his mother with Dynaheir's curves.

The yellow wasn't flattering to his eastern skin, but the cut and pattern were dignified; and Edwin always did look pretty handsome in formal-styled clothing. "It would suit you better in black," she confessed after a moment.

Edwin shifted. "It is warm," he admitted, tying up the fasteners. "And... admittedly more fashionable_ alone_ than when paired with... whatever it is the upper class of this country has confused itself into wearing on its lower extremities."

"Ha! Trunked hose?" Imoen grinned. "Don't worry Edwin; no poofed tights are getting anywhere near my evil wizard. Even I have limits! Let's get the jacket. I'm not sure, but I _think_ noble boys can afford to own more than one set of clothing. And you do have an alarming tendency to bleed all over yours!"

"That is not _my_ fault, and it is hardly the case that I could not _afford_ more than a single set of clothing," he muttered as he inspected the seam work of the doublet. The craftsmanship was tolerable. Perhaps he'd keep it.

"Hehe, you're a wizard; you couldn't _carry_ much," she grinned. He scowled at her. She held up her hands with a placating grin. "Reasons why I risked life and limb to purloin a Bag of Holding: no other conceivable way to carry all my important stuff with these noodly arms of mine!"

"Yes, because you really do need to carry around fifty sets of armor, a sink, and a turkey." He had turned to look at other items, and eyed a silk garment longingly before feeling over a well-spun linen chemise.

"But that's how I hide all the important stuff!" she protested as she rejoined the search. He fixed her with an unimpressed expression. "Um... Well... Okay, I'm a bit of a pack rat." She scratched the back of her head. "Maybe I need some help with that...?"

He folded up the garment he was examining. "Ordinarily, I should demand high royalties on your exploits for being forced into such a belittling service as _basic_ _accounting._" As he set the garment back down he absently straightened a pile of clothing. "Given that your deranged response to my offer would undoubtedly be to upend the bag's contents all over our room, in some misguided effort to 'handle' things yourself; I suppose I could _graciously_ agree to manage you inventory for you. However," his eyes narrowed, "you are to cease your insane practice of hoarding all potions and wands, and are instead to distribute them in a manner befitting their most reasonable utility."

Imoen was so amused by his neurotic straightening tendencies that his accusations caught her by surprise. "Hey, they are totally safe with me!"

"Oh, yes, incredibly safe. Safe from being used, too."

_"_I- But- That- Oh you're _right_," Imoen blushed guiltily.

"Eh? Of course I am," he straightened as if surprised. "Though it is good to hear you actually _admit_ to it once in awhile."

...

* * *

Red and Pink had purchased a bundle of clothing articles, and had only just stepped out under the shop overhang to renew their magical waterproofing when another important topic occurred to Imoen.

"Edwin?" she asked as they stepped out into the road. "Xan mentioned awhile back that I ought to have a dummy spellbook."

He stiffened and eyed her. The one person he did not want to hear about at present was _Xan_. "You told _him_?" the conjurer asked darkly.

"Hey you had walked away; it's not your business what I done told anyone," she sniffed haughtily. His eyes narrowed bitterly down at her, and his mouth pressed in to a thin line. "But, no. No, I'd wager he just deduced it. Annnnywayyy, d'ya think I should maybe just admit that I have Gorion's spellbook and use that?"

"That would be uncharacteristically honest of you," he muttered, but then he straightened upward and considered the query further. "You should. But you still need_ tidy_ work paper. I doubt you will be impressed with yourself years from now if you have scribbled all over an archwizard's spellbook; so a simple leather journal will suffice."

"Leather reminds me: we need to get you proper winter boots! Nice ones too, given how you turned into a complete diva about clothing..."

Heavy-lidded eyes slid down to her. "Excuse me, I did _what_ now?"

"Well there are some pretty good boots down the shop north o' th' Read Sheaf," a crotchety voice piped up from nearby. Imoen turned to see a halfling woman and her traveling companion, both heavily cloaked against the biting rain. The man she was with looked human; probably a wizard based on the pretty pale blue robes. "Mighty wizardy-lookin if tha's what yer keen on! Picked these up for the lad here just this mornin' I did," she said with a gesture to the boots in question.

"Oh hey, thanks!" Imoen laughed, and then tugged a grumbling Edwin along behind her.

"Make sure ye wrap the heels and toes proper until ye wear em in, lest ye want blisters!" the halfling called thoughtfully after them.

...

* * *

As Tallix and Gorion headed northward, the old wizard reached fumbling downward to grasp at her shoulder and steady himself upon her.

"Feelin' tipsy?" the halfling quipped evilly. "Told ye it were too early for wine."

"I just nearly _died,_ you old hag," Gorion whispered faintly.

"Nae ye dinnae," she cackled. "C'mon lad, I'm good at this. All ye have ta do is learn from _me_. So! Ye convinced yer 'disguise' is good enough yet?" He shuddered and she patted his gloved hand. He squeezed her shoulder. "Like I said, Feathers, sometimes the best place to hide is _plain sight_."

Gorion looked back through the cold rain. Beregost could barely be seen through the foggy clouds of mist. He felt strange. Giddy, almost, and frightened. His daughter was back there; and he was on the road with _Tallix Snapdragon_, of all people.

"We are leaving Aegis with the necromancer," he murmured.

"Aye," she agreed. She'd been waiting to see if Gorion would put up a fight on that point. "Fer now, it's where she'll be safest. Mad he might be, but he's got a nose for the occult and I'll wager he can help keep her one step ahead of her enemies."

"He intends to sacrifice her," Gorion replied, hurrying after the halfling once more. "I'm... trusting you, Tallix. That you won't help- that you _aren't_ helping him."

She looked up at him from beneath her wraithlike hood. "Ye really should just geas me."

The old mage was quiet a moment. "I'd rather trust you," he admitted quietly.

She straightened a little. "Well now," she began and reflexively went for her pipe before scowling up at the rain, "before ye sacrifice a sheep, ye typically gotta fatten it. I ain't an expert in divine magic, so while you and I are catchin' up on _Evil Rituals and their Relevant Politics, _we need ourselves a decent babysitter."

"And the shepherd will do as long as we can make sure she's turned the right direction when he strikes," the wizard understood, and Tallix nodded in agreement. "You're... most probably right; he's not her worst problem. We also know little of the movements, intentions, and locations of other Bhaalspawn."

"Right now everyone's starting to play their opening hands; you'll see, we'll be able ta dig up somethin'. Speaking o' digging, though: There's an old, old mausoleum buried in the caverns, southwest o' High Hedge. Were sacred to Old Man Death about a thousand years ago, and I wanna take a peak ta see if there's anythin' down there worth knowin' about."

The wizard glanced at her. "Oh, just a peak, ah? A leisurely stroll through the Underdark, a nice picnic with the duergar, and then a quick peak into a haunted evil death god tomb to start off the week?"

Tallix look up at him curiously, to make sure she wasn't imagining that mischievous note in his voice. She wasn't; Gorion looked almost sly. The halfling smirked. "Aye," she agreed. "Told ye tha' ye needed ta be doin' summat, dinnae I? well, if patient, invisible sleuthing is on the agenda for later, I think ye need ta be workin' off some of that excess anxiety first."

"Mn." He observed her and then reached down to her. "Give me your pipe."

She tilted her head to the side but produced the implement for him. He took it with a polite nod, examined it for a moment, and then breathed soft words of Draconic over it; he proofed it against the weather.

"Aww," the halfling chuckled when he returned the pipe to her. "That were right sweet o' ye, lad."

...

* * *

"I am curious as to what an alleged Knight Squire of the Radiant Heart was doing, traveling with a known Sharite," Vai remarked in deadpan, clasping her arms behind her back. "It looks very _unconventional_, wouldn't you say, Amnite?"

Ajantis faltered. He noticed his ethnicity had been mentioned twice in quick succession, and the implications threw him off balance as he tried to summon up an answer. Did Vai's words mean that Viconia had gone missing? Was the drow safe?

"Is there a problem, Officer?" Xan called as he and Branwen swiftly stood and joined the paladin.

"There is," she agreed, "though hopefully not more than one. I merely found it curious that this... _paladin_... was behaving so strangely for one of his internationally lauded order. Harboring a drow and a cleric of an evil god; these do not seem the actions of a noble or righteous man." Ajantis winced. "Or am I mistaken, Amnite?"

As much as Xan was enjoying watching Ajantis' righteousness being put into question (and he was), this was not the appropriate time for more group disharmony: "Officer, if one of our own has caused you trouble, I should like to hear of it in detail."

"The drow interloper, Viconia DeVir, is wanted on four counts of murder: a farmer, his wife, and their two children."

_What? _The paladin's insides turned cold and numb. He stared down at this woman, his weight weaving slightly under the burden of his shock. _She did what?_ Vai's eyes narrowed thoughtfully and she continued:

"We did not want to alarm her into flight, as she has proven remarkably slippery and resourceful in hiding herself before us. "Instead, we approached Kivan and asked for his help in apprehending her."

"I see," Xan did, and he was not at all impressed. And were you successful?"

Vai cleared her throat. "We had no reason to suspect Kivan would be anything other than cooperative-"

"Gleefully so, I'm sure," Xan agreed dourly.

Vai eyed him. "The drow asserted that she was innocent, and delivered a different and retelling of events. Her tale sounded unlikely; but it is my duty to carry out justice fairly and investigate such claims. I told her as such, and explained that she would be set free if she was found to be innocent."

"Naturally," Xan prompted her to continue in a low voice.

"I explained that her arrest was mandatory and that, if she resisted us, my men would be forced to take her down violently. I was testing the resolve of her words. As was expected, given her race and creed, she did not surrender and all but confirmed her guilt."

_ By the gods._ Ajantis's face was white._ Please, do not say he slew her. She cannot be dead! She _cannot_ be! She is my-!_

Xan's face twitched. Branwen eyed him warily; she had seen Xan express anger in many different and flavorful ways throughout the course of their relationship, but _this_ manner was new and rather frightening to look upon. Before she could say anything to him, however, the front door to the tavern swung open ahead; and a very grouchy looking Aegis strode in with Jaheira, Khalid, Minsc, and Xzar in tow.

Aegis paused at the sight of Vai. She looked in surprise first to Ajantis, whose returned her gaze with a pale, conflicted, and pleading expression. Then she looked to Xan, who had yet to see her but who seemed to be meticulously assembling a very long mental list of _Choice Things To Say. _

The Mother Lion lowered her head, and a wide and angry expression flattened out the line of her mouth. Jaheira was right with her, already scowling up a storm.

Branwen might not have been the sharpest knife in the drawer, but she felt it a safe wager that Officer Vai was about to have a very, very unpleasant afternoon.

...

* * *

"Will you hurry _up_?" Edwin growled, glancing out of the aerie to where heavier clouds once more threatened, and it looked as if a genuine storm might follow up on the tail of the tail of morning's unpleasantly cold mist. "Whoever has pissed Umberlee off this fall deserves to be strung up in a tide pool by their entrails and slowly devoured by minnows..."

"Hey, _I've_ got an idea!" Imoen chirped sarcastically from the writing bench. "How about _you_ write a letter home to _your_ da while you're waiting? Then we'll totally match!"

He huffed in annoyance at her juvenile antics. {Where do you think Jackal is?} he growled.

{Ha! You're calling him Jackal! Wait, what, really?} she perked up and looked at him. {_You_ sent a letter home?}

{Officially changing my orders from afar may prove complex. I sent a letter reporting my fellows' deaths, explaining my position, and asking whether the tharchion would be inclined to handle the diplomacy on my behalf.}

{What? I haven't seen Jackal! When did you-?}

{Fool child. Before the battle, of course.}

{You sent a letter about their deaths _before_ they were dead?} she exclaimed, amused despite herself.

He glanced back at her with a somewhat wolfish expression. {They would be dead by the time it arrived, so what was the difference?} he asked.

Imoen pointed at him with her pen {Let it never be said you lack for confidence, Edwin Odesseiron.} She went back to writing. {Hey, do you know any spells for sending a letter _straight_ to a person?}

{Such things often require the application of divination,} he answered. {Why?}

Imoen shrugged, pushing pink out of her face as she wrote. The gesture was strangely feminine. He watched her a moment, and at the way her pen flit over the paper. {I think I want to send a letter to Montaron.}

His gaze lifted sharply to her face, and his brows narrowed. {What would you say to a_ traitor_?}

She smirked, dotting some of her 'i's and crossing the 't's. {Hey, I forgave _you_,} she reminded him, and she blew over the ink before dipping her quill again and settling on the next line. {And he did say he was sorry, and there was sort of this really forlorn 'goodbye forever' kiss that, I dunno, seemed really sad and earnest.}

The wizard's posture curled slightly, and his lips drew into a disbelieving sneer. He stared wide-eyed at the girl for a moment. Then he looked away in disgust, unspoken words flitting over his lips and between harsh breaths as his gaze roved the aerie window.

{Anyway, as I was saying: I figured if anyone's got useful dirt on Xzar, it'd be Montaron. If we're gonna figure out what the crazy wizard's up to, then it seems a good place to start digging. And I've done had enough of these surprises!}

Edwin looked quickly back at her.

{I mean, the assassins are bad enough. But now we know we're sitting in the dark about Xzar, for sure. Terrifying, undead-filled, Ulcasterish dark! I don't like it one bit, nope, and it's time I realize I've got sneakies and therefore the responsibility to look into it proper. Right?}

She dried her latest line and looked up at Edwin who, to be honest, was much more experienced in intrigue and paranoia than she'd ever be. She was surprised to see him staring at her with such an intense expression.

{Edwin?}

{It is something of a relief to see at least _one_ of you simians investigating the matter,} the conjurer answered her in a dry and dispassionate tone. He looked off and added as an afterthought, {The halfling is most likely in hiding, so if you wish to keep him as a contact you might take care not to expose his current whereabouts.}

She tapped her chin with her quill feather. {Hmm. Point.} She signed the letter, and then set to rolling it up. {Whelp, I'm done! How about we steal the table closest to the fire, get some coffee, and go through all the scrolls I found in Tazok's strongbox?}

The Red Wizard grimaced as she brought the message to the pidgeon master and saw it off. When she returned she placed a hand on his arm and he stiffened at the physical contact. He glared down at her, his skin crawling.

{At least until someone inevitably commandeers us for the big, overdue, debriefing session,} she added. {Mm?}

The Red Wizard was quiet for a moment. Imoen was briefly startled by sensation that he was searching her face for something; but it was gone as soon as it came. He straightened upwards with a nod and an annoyed sigh. {Very well; I suppose I should not waste your sudden and miraculous inclination to _actually_ apply yourself.}

...

* * *

Edwin and Imoen could hear a commotion as they approached the Jovial Juggler from behind, but it only became clear an explosively loud shouting match was transpiring as the two of them rounded its side.

"Is that Ae?" Imoen wondered aloud, just before Edwin grabbed her arm and jerked her back into the tavern's shadows. He was wearing a startled looking grimace, and she peered ahead to see no less than six Flaming Fist soldiers gathered about the outside of the inn. They seemed confused and dismayed; and two of them wore partial robes and arcane sigils over gleaming chain shirts.

"Warmages," Edwin hissed. "Hsst! Something is wrong."

"Should we go see what's wrong? Or is this cause for the sneakies?" They listened for a moment, and concluded that Aegis was _definitely_ the angriest person involved. "Maybe-"

Two hooded people strode casually past the guards, their hoods drawn low against the rain. As they turned to head past Imoen and Edwin, one of them lifted a gloved hand in a 'hush' gesture. The other, Imoen saw, was clearly _missing_ some fingers. Imoen and Edwin retreated back behind the tavern, and their hooded companions joined them just as soon as the guards could no longer see them.

"Imoen," Kivan greeted with a gentle touch upon her shoulder.

"What happened?" the thief hissed, clasping the elf's arm worriedly. "Who broke the law? Not me! Not visibly, I mean. I'm sure of it!"

"I have been charged with murder," other hood sighed dramatically, and Imoen and Edwin jumped as they both realized who Kivan was with. "Again," Viconia added. "Apparently bogus claims of theft and petty burglary are too small-scale to imagine upon a drow."

"Shouldn't there be a ten foot separation rule in force between the two of you?" the conjurer wondered in bewilderment.

"Kivan had me prove my innocence," Viconia replied. "Which I... appreciate. Better than these fools, who hunt around for my blood instead of seeking out real proof. Ironic Sharite I am, mm? Inspiring filthy rivvin to spin elaborate falsehoods in pursuit of me. Hmph!" She snorted with bitter mirth.

"So Vai's in there... looking for _you two_..." Imoen realized slowly. "And all the time you've just been right outside the door..."

Kivan grunted. Viconia nodded.

"Well that's sort of funny. Right! So, what then? We need to wait a few days for the Fist to sort everything out? Do you have a plan?" Imoen wondered.

"Fetching bowstaff," Kivan answered. "Left at camp."

"My da's Blacksun!?" Imoen nearly squealed before Edwin quashed her with a hiss. "Is that safe? Will you be safe? Is Viconia going with you?"

Kivan frowned. He slowly looked over at Viconia, who shifted uncertainly.

"Well she can't stay _here_," Imoen protested with an arm waggle. "Don't you dare do that to Ajantis, mister! He's a paladin, don't you know? They need people to look out for them! If he had to turn her in, why, he'd probably have a gigantic, angsty mental breakdown!"

"Oh, well," Edwin muttered sarcastically, "we can't have _that_. A _real_ moral dilemma? Pft! _Everyone_ knows that is a holy man's greatest bane...!"

Viconia gave a too-sharp laugh. Kivan's mouth tugged low and to the side. The drow shifted awkwardly. Edwin sneered incredulously at them.

"That is the stupidest idea I have ever heard," the conjurer protested. "In fact, I forbid it. One, if not both of them, would be dead by nightfall. If the Darkflower needs a place to hide, I shall rent out the master suite and disguise her as a brothel whore."

"Not on your _life_. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself _alone _for however long I need to," Viconia spat haughtily.

"Yeah, like you weren't being chased by Flaming Fist when we met you, shouting 'help me they're trying to kill me,' " Imoen sassed her with her hands on her hips. Then the pink girl clasped her hands together and gave Kivan her best whimpering-big-eyed-puppy-expression. "Plleaseee Kivannnn?"

Edwin, who had never previously seen such a thing, recoiled from the sight of her in horror. Kivan stared back at her blankly, unaffected.

What Viconia did next confirmed that she was more frightened of the Fist than she'd let on. "Kivan, I... would be happy to... refrain from speaking with you..." she hazarded diplomatically.

Kivan's frown tugged lower. Imoen's star-filled puppy eyes got bigger yet. Edwin's horrified incredulity grew.

"She'll get in so much trouble on her own...!" the thief blubbered. "and it'll all end in tears, I just know it!"

The wild elf shook his head. Then he turned his gaze to their conjurer. "Gear," he told the Red Wizard, who scowled in open disbelief.

"Yay!" squealed a pink thief in a strangled voice as she threw her arms about the elf's waist. Kivan flinched "I knew you were a hero! Uahaha! Let's get to the smithy, and I'll pick stuff up for you so you aren't seen!" She grabbed Edwin's arm and hauled him off to start their forward motion. Kivan and Viconia each followed; the former already looking like he regretted things. "Oh, and we'll pay to have your fingers fixed!"

"Not really important right now," the wild elf growled, glancing behind him at the guardsmen to ensure none of them had moved.

"We _will_ pay for them to be mended," Edwin disagreed angrily, "as your life is more integral to my continued breathing than hers." He rolled his eyes. {(Gods what a stupid plan. I can see it now: Oh yes, Aegis, we were worried about the paladin's feelings, so we sent her off into the forest together with the bloodthirsty bandit killer, after a _stick_. Understandably, she bashed his brains in on the first night to avoid being arrowed to death. Please do abstain from bashing _mine, _eh?)}

{You are _muttering_, Edwin!} Imoen informed him.

{Well perhaps I have _every right_ to be muttering!} the Thayvian snapped back haughtily.

{Hey, he _agreed_ to it! That's the interesting part!} the pink thief grinned; because if Edwin and Dynaheir could come to a truce, then there were only two people left remaining who might tear the group apart.

And now it looked like Kivan might have finally seen their cleric in a different light.

...

* * *

Viconia was eyeing Edwin irritably. She didn't know what to think about his survival, or about why Imoen had elected to help him. His presence seemed impossible, and in fact she felt mildly offended by the senselessness of it.

"It seems you must have finally succeeded in seducing your waif," she muttered, coming up beside the conjurer as Kelddath inspected his newest patient.

Edwin glanced at her. "I am no longer even going to dignify that with a real response," he muttered dismissively.

For a moment this just made Viconia more irritated; since when was the pompous rivvil immune to _her_ barbs? The scowled at him for a moment but then straightened and decided to reorganize what she knew about the man. Foolish though Imoen was for wasting her resources on such an ungrateful male, it seemed she'd inadvertently twisted Edwin Odesseiron into a _slightly_ more challenging play thing. _That_ could be interesting. She'd simply have to alter her game.

"I presume this was owed to the bandits," Kelddath remarked as he examined the wild elf's damaged hands. Unbeknownst to him, his acolytes were glaring suspiciously between Kivan and Viconia. "Did any of you manage to recovered the detached fingers?"

"Would bringing them have helped?" Imoen wondered as she helped adjust a strap on Kivan's new splint mail. "I'm making a mental note for how these things work, then: when in doubt, obtain missing bits; makes the fixing easier."

Kelddath chuckled. "Add to that note an element of haste; decomposition complicates any healing procedure. In this instance I believe I can still regenerate the fingers. After all the bizarre maimings your group endures, I think I shall simply cease warning you the fee will be steep. "

"Whatever is required," Edwin sighed. Imoen smiled at him and he scowled irritably. "What? There is no point being stingy about a marksman's _hands._" Imoen grinned but didn't say anything. She had a feeling Edwin would lose the ability to own up to his mistakes the _moment_ someone first tried to talk to him about it.

Viconia glanced back to Kivan and frowned. She felt that she might have been able to repair his hands herself if she'd been provided with proper spell components. Perhaps garnets would do the job better than diamonds... But she doubted Kivan would have permitted her to work spiritual magic over him; and speaking to him on any topic only seemed to aggravate his hatred of her. Perhaps she might try utter silence around him, and see if that calmed him down...

She probably owed him her life. The question of why he'd _accepted_ her proof, and not just killed her anyway, still wore at her thoughts.

"Well," the drow muttered offhandedly, "if you must do this then, I suppose we might as well try to get some additional utility from the casting. Is it possible for you to also repair his throat?"

...

* * *

[Author's Note]

Imoen Winthrop: Because sneaking Jaheira out of the inn so that she can take care of Viconia instead, is _way_ too sane.


	15. Overdue Conversations

Fear this gigantic chapter of exposition and knowledge-sharing as our group finally starts talking to itself!

* * *

_..._

_**Long Overdue Conversations**_

...

* * *

While Edwin paid Kelddath, Imoen sidled close to Viconia. The drow glanced at her. Imoen summoned up her best command of the drow language.

_"Is he going try and kill you?"_

Viconia snorted and, for a moment, it seemed she might not answer. But then the priestess heaved a heavy sigh and shook her head. _"I don't think so," _she muttered.

_"Okay. Are you going try kill him?"_

Viconia looked to where Kivan was awaiting the healing. "_Aegis intends he lives and remains with us. __If there was ever a time to win a truce, it is now."_

Imoen licked her lips. _"You realize it hard for you keep your temper to him?"_

_"You are butchering a beautiful language," the cleric muttered._

_"So Edwin often tells me."_

Viconia glanced at her. Then her thoughts stretched back, to times many hundreds of years gone. _"That male did not deserve to be saved."_

Imoen shrugged helplessly. _"Did you?" _she asked rhetorically, not really meaning much. It was hard to talk morality with Viconia without embittering her worse. Understandably, Imoen was surprised when the drowess looked at her with sharp and hurriedly veiled surprise.

...

* * *

Officer Vai departed stiffly from the Jovial Juggler. By that time, Aegis of Candlekeep was certainly comparable to a Mother Lion. She paced menacingly back and forth across the inn common room.

Many a person had come downstairs to complain about the noise, only to take one look at Beregost's fuming hero and think twice about reproaching her. Empty tables now served in a wide buffer around the group.

Shar-Teel had, of course, slept through the entire thing. Jaheira and Xan were introspective. Branwen look incredibly put-out. Khalid was worried for Aegis; she was taking things very hard. Xzar had long ago descended from mute nervousness into mad obliviousness, and so was seated and happily eating his cold fish heads.

Minsc broke the silence at last from them: "Boo and Minsc have spent a long time contemplating the dark lady's butt, and we know it is _not_ _a butt of evil_! The shiny knights are being very unheroic in trying to kick it!"

Aegis moaned and shook her head into a sudden facepalm. "Not all people appreciate Boo's great wisdom, Minsc."

"We need to give Officer Vai the scrying materials she asked for," Ajantis blurted, in direct contrast.

Aegis spun towards the paladin. "Viccy just saved my life," she protested. "And she's your _friend!_"

"She is my _responsibility_, both for good and ill!" Ajanatis corrected with an agonized expression. "If she committed these murders and _I_ sheltered her all this time...!"

Jaheira had defended Viconia ferociously while Vai had been present; but the outsider was gone now, and the druid looked weary. "Viconia _is_ capable of murder," she reminded the group. "But it's moot; at this point she is most likely dead."

Aegis, Ajantis, and Minsc all flinched. Then the latter looked incredibly dejected. Khalid patted the big man's arm reassuringly.

"I doubt she's guilty," Xan intoned, and they looked over to where the elf was leaning with his arms across his chest. "Viconia is vengeful and ruthless, but she has no great hatred for toddlers."

Xzar looked up from his fish head and stared at the enchanter in puzzlement. A little bit of sense came back to him, and his posture slumped as his feelings showed up readily on his face: _You trust her, but not me...?_

Aegis gave a heavy sigh, and slowly ambled back over to their table. "Why would Kivan have 'rescued' her, even temporarily?" she wondered aloud. _That_ was the part which confused her most of all.

Xan stood. "Perhaps he wanted proof of her guilt."

"Proof's never bothered him before," Aegis remarked glumly, resting her palms against one of the chairs.

"No," Xan agreed. "But, it bothers _you. _And, like you said, Viconia saved your life. _Debt_ might be enough to bother Kivan. We should conduct some scrying of our own."

Ajantis shook his head. Then, with a pained grimace and a straightening of his spine, he turned to face the group once more. "I am a paladin sworn to Helm. Viconia needs to be brought to trial for these murders, and it is my responsibility to see justice is done. I must go in search of her."

Xan scowled. "Your justice is lopsided. You begged Kelddath to offer pardon to any bandits who tried to return to Beregost and honest work."

Ajantis glared at him. "That is not-!"

"Ha!" came a bright laugh from the front of the tavern. "What did I tell ya, eh? Paladin-brain-splosions: they're a thing!" Aegis looked up at the sound of her sister's voice.

"Yes, yes, whatever-" Edwin paused at the sight of Minsc, and immediately he became wary.

Imoen flit up to her sister's side and gestured for her to lean over. When Aegis did so, the younger girl cupped her hands over her mouth and stood on her tip-toes to whisper: "Kivan and Viconia are fine!"

Aegis stood up straight in surprise. She looked from Imoen to Edwin and then back again. Then she turned around, gestured to the whole of the group. "Upstairs. Group meeting."

"Where is the witch?" Edwin growled.

Aegis looked back at him. "We don't know," she admitted.

...

* * *

They rented a larger suite in which to conduct their group meeting. Aegis tried to calm down a somewhat fretful Xzar. Xan set to warding the room against spying as the remaining party members (minus the slumbering Shar-Teel) gathered around to hear Imoen's explanation:

"So, Kivan and Viconia are both okay and were literally standing just outside the tavern for a good half of that argument!"

"Together?" Jaheira protested incredulously as Ajantis begged: "Go on...!"

Edwin snorted. "While we had little time to extract detailed testimony from a functional mute, it seems Viconia was able to convince the surly wild man of her innocence."

"Ayup!" Imoen chimed. "And since we're talkin' about _Kivan_ I'm inclined to take his word on the matter!"

"Where are they both now?" Aegis requested as she pressed Xzar's spellbook into his hands to entertain him. The necromancer took the bait and was soon as docile as a lamb as he poured over the tome.

"Kivan took Viconia back outside of Beregost to wait out the Fist's investigation in safety," Imoen explained, to the surprised expressions of her group mates. Edwin eyed her irritably when she made no mention of her own interference.

"But if she's innocent, then she has nothing to fear," Ajantis argued. "She should have returned and submitted herself to the Fist!"

"She doesn't _trust_ the Fist you sanctimonious fool," Xan snapped. He was tired of hearing the paladin's convictions that afternoon. "And with good reason; most people on the surface try to kill her on meeting her. Come now, Sir. Black and White, surely you don't believe law enforcement officials are _infallible_?"

"I _trust_ in the law!" Ajantis disagreed. "Right now, Viconia is in the keeping of a disturbed and temperamental archer who wants to kill her! How is that safer!?"

"Viconia went with Kivan _voluntarily_?" Aegis pressed, stepping between the arguing enchanter and paladin. "Kivan took her _voluntarily_?"

Imoen nodded, excitedly. "Sure did! Viccy said she hoped to finally make a truce!"

Aegis looked to Ajantis, who grimaced but seemed to take this into consideration. If Viconia _was_ innocent, perhaps there was something to be said about letting her stay where she felt safest... But Jaheira had seen Edwin's accusatory expression, and was skeptical of Imoen's claims: "And did _you_ help them along with this foolish plan?"

"Well... I might have mentioned that Ajantis would probably have a giant paladin breakdown adn turn her in..." The Helmite flinched, "Annnddd so they'd absolutely _crush his soul _if Kivan didn't get her out of town and take the matter out of Ajantis' hands for him..."

"I see," Jaheira glared.

"But _that's not all!" _Imoen squealed, abruptly, as if she were nearly ready to wet herself. "So we got Kivan some gear quickly and brought him up to the _Song of the Morning_ so that Kelddath could fix his poor fingers. And guess what? The spell! The spell Kelddath used!" She hopped rapidly up and down and clapped her hands. "It fixed Kivan's _throat_!"

Xan stepped forward. "You _jest_," he whispered excitedly on behalf of the party, his eyes wide.

"It's true!" Imoen cackled manically. "And oh sweet _gods_ you should _hear_ him! He's got like world's _sexiest_ baritone! And when he _heard_ it come out of himself, he looked so startled and shy! It was like he wanted to go hide in a corner, and I almost felt sorry we fixed it!"

Xan gaped at her for a moment, his face twitching. Then abruptly he burst out in a small an uncharacteristic laugh and he darted forward to hug the thief about her middle. Imoen hugged him back, giggling like a fiend. To say she was surprised when Xan lifted her off her feet and twirled her about would have been an understatement! "Impossible!" he claimed, a wide smile alighting on his face. "Kivan, talking? Tell me everything!"

Imoen's grin stretched from ear to ear. "Weelll!"

Jaheira and Khalid both immediately relaxed. Branwen's face positively lit up. Minsc laughed something about sneaky tree friend. Xzar continued to be completely distracted by his spellbook. Edwin leaned away from Pink and Purple, and tensed up as if he was afraid they might accidentally touch him. Aegis stared wondrously at the two for a moment and then smirked, gave a faint sigh, and shook her head. After a moment, she turned and looked back at Ajantis.

The paladin still seemed incredibly conflicted. He was worrying a hole in his bottom lip. Ajantis took a deep breath and then reached out and grasped his shoulder. He shuddered and looked away for a moment. Then he took in a deep breath and nodded. "I will pray for her safety," he murmured. "And I will wait to see what Vai uncovers. E-excuse me." He turned and hurried quickly from the room.

...

* * *

"Yes, yes, happy, happy, happy," Edwin groused, oblivious to Ajantis' distress and still a little unnerved by how Xan and Imoen were chattering on. "Now will anyone explain to me what has become of the witch?"

Minsc harrumphed. "It is _all _the evil wizard's fault!" Xzar leaned back to look up at Minsc in surprise, before realizing _he_ was not the evil wizard in question this time.

"Easy, Minsc," Aegis gestured towards the Rashemi. She looked after Ajantis' departure for a moment, and then turned back to Edwin. "Dynaheir told Minsc to stay behind, and then eluded him with invisibility," the ranger explained. "If I had to guess, it sounds like she's just going off to clear her head."

Edwin frowned and tapped his nails together under his bundle of purchases. Then he cocked his head to the side. "And should I be expecting an attack when she returns? A trap? Poison? A friendly mug of tea and some cupcakes? Shall I prepare for an assault or a gift basket?"

Aegis scowled and almost told him off before recalling that Jaheira had mentioned Dynaheir firing upon Imoen. Her expression slid to neutral and she took a moment to appreciate that the Red Wizard was at least looking for instructions instead of relying on his own incredibly psychotic judgement. Perhaps he _had_ learned something while the rest of them were paying attention to other concerns.

"I doubt she would have left Minsc with us if she anticipated fighting you," the ranger said slowly. "But you are to rely on _us_ to deal with her. No matter what her intentions are;_ if_ you attack her, you will forfeit your life."

"Yes! Look out, Evil!" Minsc announced, leaping forward a step and pointing a finger accusingly at Edwin. "Or Boo will dine on your eyes like nice, crisp water chestnuts!"

The Red Wizard's brows narrowed and his jaws tightened. He cocked his head to the side, and for a moment appeared to be evaluating exactly how to tell them them all off for defending Dynaheir _and_ simultaneously insult Minsc such that the berserker would understand him. Imoen noticed, and pulled herself free of Xan to grab Edwin's arm. The conjurer flinched slightly, and glared at her. She squeezed his arm. His lips dripped into a sneer; then, a moment later, he sulked and looked away. A silence stretched over the party. Few people present had ever seen her diffuse him so obviously.

"I will prepare my contingencies accordingly," the Red Wizard muttered to end the long pause. He looked at none of them and turned to head for the door. Imoen made to follow him.

...

* * *

"Imm!" Aegis called, and the pink girl looked back at her. "You stay, we need to have a big family meeting."

"Oh? Kay!"

Edwin paused and then slowly looked back at them over his shoulder. Aegis waved him off. "_You_ can go, Edwin." The conjurer's gaze lowered for a moment as he considered Imoen. Then he turned back to face them and leaned against the wall. Aegis straightened. "Edwin?"

"What concerns her, concerns me," he told the ranger.

Xan's eyes narrowed contemptuously. "No, I_ don't_ believe it does," the elf stressed.

Xzar looked up from his spellbook and his brows furrowed.

Aegis fidgeted. The more she told Edwin to get out of the room, the more likely he was to realize _something_ was up. She'd have to wait to reveal her secret, and ask Imoen about Montaron instead. She opened her mouth to speak, but Edwin interrupted her.

"How about you permit me to hazard a guess on what this is about, since I've had all morning to construct my thoughts on the matter?" the Red Wizard asked. "I followed Dynaheir to this party, so I knew I was looking for something of spiritual significance. She stayed with the party and took no interest in any artifacts; and initially I suspected she was after Imoen. Then the assassination attempts began to mount. And it became clear that this 'Horned Man,' Dynaheir, and half of Faerun were all after the same person: Aegis."

Aegis stepped back in surprise. The conjurer kept talking:

"Dynaheir once made an offer to collaborate with me on _her_ mission, as a ceasefire. That she wanted a conjurer's opinion betrayed what she knew. Now, I would have never presumed Aegis to be half devil- Xzar had successfully inscribed a _Protection from Evil_ on her, after all- but I was too experienced a diabolist not to notice a whiff of something awry. And when _Elminster_ made an appearance but declined to help, and we learned that Gorion was close to Khelben Arunsun, the question begged itself: What _was_ Aegis that _the goddess of magic_ should forbid her Chosen from helping us?"

By the stunned look on the ranger's face, Edwin was on the right track.

"I saw that Aegis had most likely uncovered her bloodline, and I suspected Xzar might have helped; but I lacked the proper context to interpret things further. Then we learned Cyrites had attempted to ritually _cannibalize _Aegis, an act typically reserved for consuming power; and that Xzar had sabotaged it and incurred the wrath of all Darkhold to do so. This was curious, but it wasn't until Imoen mentioned Xzar was a _Deathstalker_ that I had all the pieces I needed. Then even small clues, like Aegis' bizarre reaction to the artifacts of Kazagoroth in High Hedge, made sense."

Aegis was white-faced. Her reaction was all the confirmation the Red Wizard needed. He licked his lips, eager to voice the realization.

"The reason she has a whole country excited about her; the reason Gorion sequestered his ward in Candlekeep- of all places; the reason he told so very few people about the girl's origins; is most likely because Aegis was sired by Bhaal ten years prior to the Time of Troubles. She is the daughter of a god." His eyes drifted from a white-faced Aegis down to where Xzar was sitting. "Isn't she?"

The necromancer did not move, and was not smiling. Without his face paint, the ugly expression on his face was vivid; and he stared through Edwin's head with a grim and withering malevolence. His fingers were clenched tight and white-knuckled against the side of the bed.

...

* * *

The room was silent with the weight of half a dozen stares.

_"What?!_" Imoen finally blurted. She looked from Aegis's face to Xzar's.

"Well, _I_ am impressed," Xzar murmured wryly, but his eyes smoldered to a different tune "So clever a trick from a _Thayvian_. You coaxed it _right_ out from her face, didn't you?"

Edwin's expression betrayed his smugness and delight. "I should be offended at the underestimation," he retorted brazenly. "Did you honestly believe someone of my talents and background would not be able to discern the truth?"

"Ah, yes, so _sly_ you have been," the necromancer complemented, pushing himself upright, "to speak this aloud in a room of people who all want you dead." He paused, considered, and then rotated his head slowly to the side like an owl. "Admittedly..._ More_ clever would have been to intentionally botch the final conclusion, so that you had time to escape Beregost alive."

The Red Wizard's eyes narrowed. "You think they should fear _me_ when they have _you_ to worry about?"

"They now know what _I_ have done on Aegis' behalf, Edwin," Xzar explained, his mouth twitching. "But what do they know about you?" He stepped forward, eyes wide with an out-of-place and _eager _curiosity. "They know the only thing standing between us and the Zulkir of Conjuration... is the amount of time it will take you to leave this room and pen a single word."

Edwin laughed. "So you say! But I wonder: do they know you did these things for _Aegis_, or do they suspect you've done them for _Bhaal_? Men do not serve dead gods unless they hope to see them rise again; and Deathstalkers have a sort of, eh, _reputation_ in that vein!"

All mirth dripped off the necromancer's face. Green eyes disassembled their prey, slowly.

"Aegis," Imoen interrupted, stepping forward. The ranger looked to her quickly, as if startled or struck. "Is this all the truth? Is this what's _actually_ been going on?"

"... I..." Aegis hesitated. Jaheira's lips parted in dumbfounded horror. Khalid, had anyone been paying attention to him, looked relieved by all the sense the universe had finally begun to make. He mouthed a thoughtful '_Oh_!' and looked off at nothing in particular.

"Oh sweet Oghma," Imoen sputtered in amazement, "Old Man Death banged your ma." She was silent for a moment before reasoning: "That must have chafed something _awful_..."

Aegis blinked dumbly down at Imoen for a moment. Everyone in the room but Minsc twisted slowly about to stare at the pink girl, as if uncertain they had heard her correctly. Then a shudder rippled down Aegis' spine and she staggered forward a step and opened her arms. Imoen met her halfway, throwing herself into the older girl's arms and hugging back tightly.

"You should have _told_ me!" the younger girl protested excitedly. "I'm your sis, I woulda understood anything! Gods, this explains _so much_! Like when we were kids-! My mind, it's done been _boggled!_" She waggled her legs excitedly, since her arms were in use.

Aegis groaned inarticulately, squeezing her sister close.

"To think I used to get _so mad at you_ for not crying when stuff died! Of _course_ you didn't cry! You must have been _so confused_! Wowee, I was a mean sister without even knowing it! Ha! How did-" Imoen considered. "Mr. G... was the _best dad ever_..." she realized. "I mean I thought _I_ had the best da effort but _wow._ That just takes the cake. Like on a scale of Homen Oddesseiron to ten, Mr. G was a freakin' fifteen, I'm tellin' ya!"

_"Excuse_ me?" Edwin protested, momentarily distracted by this outrageous scale. "How _dare_ you?"

"I totally remember the cant!" Imoen spazzed excitedly. "Huge clue from Mr. G, settling down in Candlekeep! _The Lord of Murder shall perish; __But in his doom he shall spawn a score of mortal progeny; __Chaos will be sown from their passing; __So sayeth the wise Alaundo. _Aegis! You're part of a _prophecy_! Do you realize how awesome this adventure is!?"

Xan cleared his throat. "What is to be done with the Red Wizard?"

Xzar had some ideas. "Only say the word, my darling Moaratuk," he requested, watching Edwin with a quiet and merciless contempt. "I can snuff out the Red bellows with naught but a gentle touch, and leave nothing at all for you to mop."

Their enchanter shot Xzar a look of scathing disgust.

"Hoi now!" shouted a cleric and startling them out of their thoughts. "The two of you are to keeps your fingers put! All he's done is been candid with us; and he's not even kit for defending himself!" Branwen pointed out, wading forward with a wary look at the mages in question. A three-way wizard duel was the last thing the party needed.

"Your recognition of the obvious is appreciated, She-Tempus," Edwin remarked, keeping his voice remarkably unhostile as Aegis eased Imoen to the ground. "I will wait until you fools are all calmer to speak my part. And in the mean time this secret is safer with me than it is with any of you."

Xzar's fingers twitched, but Aegis spoke: "Then swear it. Swear you will say nothing."

"Done," Edwin agreed, lifting his chin as if the request were incredibly simple to comply with. "I vow that I will communicate nothing concerning your heritage to anyone outside of this party, Aegis of Candlekeep; unless it is with your express, and written permission. I also vow I will refrain from harming any member of the party, under identical terms to those I swore last time I traveled with you. It will be as if I had never left. Are you satisfied?"

The room was still and tense for a long moment.

Xzar continued to stare at the Thayvian. In particular, he was watching the Red Wizard's throat; every breath and every swallow and the soft pulse of the jugular running hot under the skin. The necromancer's fingers curled into hooks at his sides.

Then, Aegis nodded.

...

* * *

"There," Edwin smirked and leaned back against the inn room doorway presumptuously. "I told you what concerned the pink waif also concerned me."

_But it was a family meeting. _Aegis blinked slowly down at the Red Wizard for a moment, dumb and giddy with the shock of her heritage. _Does that imply we've adopted you?_

For a moment no one moved. Khalid was the first one to break the stillness, pushing past Jaheira and coming directly up to Aegis. Aegis looked to the half-elf with some trepidation, but Khalid stepped directly into her personal space and cupped her cheeks.

"You will _never_ h-have to fear us," he told her firmly. "_Believe_ th-that. Y-your f-father did not blind entrust you to us. No m-matter how much he sought to s-spare us the worry in your ch-childhood."

Aegis swallowed. "I imagined... I imagined you'd be more... upset."

Khalid took in a deep breath and sighed softly. Then he shrugged slightly and squeezed her shoulders. "I-I know n-nothing of gods," he confessed. "I know only who you a-are to _us_. You are both G-gorion's daughter... and the fierce and compassionate l-leader of our p-party." He smiled proudly. "You are my neice. My tallest and b-best."

Aegis' heart melted. "You have more than one niece?" she wondered.

"Thirteen," he confessed. "But o-only who c-calls me such." He blushed for a moment but then his face brightened. "L-lucky number thirteen, I guess."

"What about me!" Imoen exclaimed, dismayed. "I demand to be 13B!"

Khalid jumped in startlement and then chuckled and gestured her forward again and hugged her. "Thirteen A and B, then," he agreed fondly as Jaheira slowly approached them once druid had a far-off look on her face, and seemed to be sifting through her memories of Gorion to make new sense of them.

Xan sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He tried to wait patiently, but when it became clear only more cuteness would ensue he cleared his throat. "Loathed as I am to disturb your family moment- and make no mistake, I _am_\- this conversation has not yet reached its terminus."

The Assorted Candlekeep Family reconfigured itself to look at him.

Xan gestured to Xzar. "Unbeknownst to nearly everyone but Aegis, our necromancer's religious affiliations have a second, darker layer. The _Protection _sigil he inscribed on Aegis' back is my proof." Xzar straightened, knocked out of his death glare as he registered the elf's words. "It is inscribed in draconic and celestial, with both the arcane and divine components intertwined. He is _unmistakably _a-"

"I was a demiurge," Xzar interrupted, slowly turning to look not at the rest of the party but rather directly at Xan. "Skilled in divine and arcane magic."

Xan eyed him sharply. "You are a _priest_ of _Bhaal_."

"And I was never any priest of Cyric's," Xzar agreed. "So why do you look at me like that? Do you not realize I pitied you _because_ I know what it is like to be in captivity?"

That startled the elf. "I am nothing like you!"

"No. You were caged for three months and lost what I presume must have been a dear friend," Xzar reminded him, his voice starting to tremble. "Three months." He nodded as if to himself and then stepped forward: "I was held for seven _y__ears." _His voice came out half-hiss, half-rumble. "Seven._ Years_. I lost everyone I had ever known; whether it was in mind, in body, or in soul: My mentors, my peers, my students, my god, my_ familiar_ and the last person I called family; _everything_.

"I sat in that hole for _seven years _with the Mad Knave's fingers in my skull and his laughter in my ears," he spat viciously, and they had never heard his voice so coarse and heated, "so do not look at me as if I could not fathom the depths of _your_ suffering!"

The elf was taken aback. "That's not what I- That's- Y-you helped _eat _her!"

"I was _geased_!" the necromancer shouted furiously, his hands balled into fists as he advanced on the elf. Branwen's eyes widened and she grabbed Xan and pulled the elf behind herself. This did not deter Xzar's advance. "I thought to fight the damn thing for all that I'd end up dying in a puddle of my own blood, but what would doing so have helped!? It would not have kept her safe from them!"

"Xzar!" Aegis protested in alarm, stepping forward to try and reach the necromancer before a disturbed Branwen could try and brain him.

"Do you not realize how precious little I have left to lose-!?" the necromancer howled. Then Aegis' arms closed around his middle and hoisted him off the ground, and he gave a strangled cry as he debated himself violently.

"Xzar!" she hissed, realizing she should have taken a moment to call him down earlier. The necromancer jerked as if struck by the sound of his voice. Then he hung limply in her grasp, staring out at nothing and trembling violently as he kneaded the sleeve of her gambeson. "Oh boy. Xzar." She switched to using Auld Thari. _"__Come back, now. Come down. It's okay. Xzar? Xzar, it's okay." _He looked weakly up at her.

_"Little Death," _he begged in a helpless moan, _"Do not believe them! Do not believe them when they say I should hurt you! I won't believe it; please don't believe it either; This humble wizard wants only to keep you safe...!" _

_"I know_," she whispered, easing him slowly to the ground and watching his face. She kept a hand on each shoulder to steady him. He searched her eyes for a moment and then his expression crumpled and he sagged into her. It had already been a long week for him, and the week had only just started. "_It's okay,"_ she breathed, wrapping both arms tight around him. _ "Everything is going to be okay."_

_"_Okay, so," Imoen concluded brightly, "I think we all just need to take deep breaths and then have like a fifteen minute muffin and coffee break. Cause I'm pretty sure this has all just gotten _way, way_ too exciting."

"Yes," Edwin muttered, estranged, "for once I think I agree."

"Cake," Branwen insisted.

_"Aegis," _Xzar whimpered helplessly, _"I'm falling__. Down, down, down, down, down..."_

_"No," _she corrected. _"See? I have you. We must already be at the bottom."_

He was quiet for a moment, shaking. "_T-then... is there tea down here?" _he blubbered meekly.

She kissed his hair in answer.

...

* * *

If Imoen was at all bothered by the fact that her older sister happened to be the daughter of an evil death god, then she certainly didn't show it. She'd put the entire group on a strict no-hot-topics-or-arguing break and then dragged Xan off ("why _me_?!") to obtain drinks and pastries. Branwen followed them down shortly after.

It was too early in the day for alcoholic beverages, so Imoen decided she'd show off and carried coffee and tea water pitchers upstairs, two in each hand, with a tray of mugs balanced on her head. Branwen carried the cakes. Xan followed behind dutifully with the napkins and forks.

Edwin gave Imoen a quizzical look as she entered.

"Taaavvvern girrrl," the pink girl reminded him, and then went around giving everyone their mugs and filling them with coffee or tea as requested. Minsc very politely asked for half of both and an extra cake for his hamster. It appeared he had been cowed into silence by the vast amount of Difficult To Understand But Highly Important Things that were going on, and so was making sure not to interrupt lest Boo miss any vital points.

Aegis could tell well enough that Xzar's mind was being pushed past its limitations. She'd counted a tremendous number of personalities that morning alone. There was a possibility, she realized, that she had been uncharacteristically rough with him entirely because her fellow party members expected to see him punished. Truth be told, she hadn't been angry with him for awhile.

She had Imoen pour them two cups of tea, and then gently talked the necromancer into procuring some powdered Klamath weed. She sprinkled it into his tea for him, and then eased the cup gently into his fingers.

"H-how is h-he?" Aegis looked up in surprise to see Khalid nearby and watching the necromancer with concern. Xzar was staring unblinking off into space. Imoen settled down a few jugs and reached out to wave a hand in front of the necromancer's face. If Xzar even noticed her, he didn't show it.

"Not well," Aegis confessed, gently pushing Imoen's hand back. "I should probably put him to bed for a few hours. Remember, this is the same person we met in the middle of a forest talking about livers and bears only a few short months ago. He's... fragile."

"And _evil_," Imoen reminded her. "Are you sure you can trust him? From the sound of it, it doesn't seem like you should let him anywhere _near_ you."

"He's the most informed councilor we _have_," Aegis confessed. "Not only on how to handle assassins, but also... also on what I'm going through. The dreams, Imoen, the things I've seen go through my head-! Other people would look at me in disgust and... ... He talks me through things almost like Gorion did."

"In a not-evil way?" Imoen wondered doubtfully.

Aegis smiled slightly. "Remarkably."

"Huh. Well," Imoen shrugged helplessly, "I guess it's a good thing Ajantis stepped out when he did, eh?"

"W-what language were you speaking to him?" Khalid asked.

Aegis blinked and stiffened a little. Then she shrugged helplessly. "Auld Thari." The Harper blinked in surprise. "He's been tutoring me... eh, _slowly_. I've never been a polyglot."

...

* * *

Xan left Branwen's side to come up where Xzar was sitting. He looked to Aegis and then glanced in Edwin's direction.

[You should ask the Red Wizard what he is after.]

Aegis considered the enchanter who, as of recently, had clearly been on the warpath concerning both his fellow male wizards. [How are you feeling?] she asked him.

Xan evaded her eyes for a moment and then looked to Xzar. [Let me weave an enchantment over him to help his mind rest easier. Then l will sit and speak with him,] he said, [and distract him from your conversation with Edwin, seeing as it will otherwise most likely upset him.]

[You won't hurt him?] Aegis frowned.

Xan shook his head. [I will not,] he promised her, and it seemed a little warmth or energy had returned to him from the beginning of the 'family meeting,' when he'd twirled Imoen off her feet. [I think I may have been mistakenly quick to judge of late. Please, let me talk with him...]

...

* * *

Aegis made sure Xzar was comfortable and calm with speaking to Xan before she stood up and headed over to where Edwin was calmly enjoying a cup of coffee. Jaheira almost moved to join her, but Aegis waved for the druid to stay behind. She could handle Edwin alone.

"I'm ready to hear whatever it is you want," she told the Thayvian quietly.

He eyed her and then nodded, lacing his fingers about the cup. "First of all, I wish to mention that I have little enough incentive to report what I've learned. Aside from a pat on the head, I have nothing to gain. Secondly, I do not intend you any harm; just as, ultimately, I have not harmed Dynaheir."

_Which is to say, because of my sister, _Aegis thought but did not say aloud. She crossed her arms over her chest and considered his words for a moment. "So then I'm guessing your goal is either to make sure you're getting a piece of the pie, or else to stretch out the mission until you're reassigned, working to earn a consolation prize in the meanwhile."

Edwin smirked. "Good. Always presume I am led by _motives_, and not whimsical flights of hysteria."

Somewhere to his left, Imoen gave a very dramatic eye roll which neither he nor the ranger saw.

Aegis' eyes narrowed. "Your pragmatic selfishness doesn't make me feel any better, Edwin."

"Only because you have been listening to Knights, Zhents and Harpers," he muttered, straightening slightly and tilting his head to the side. "While your existence _would_ prove of interest to Thay, it is not in the way these fools imagine. We have nothing to gain from harming you. But, there is nothing a Thayvian respects more than power... _except_ for a compelling deal. Before Harpers, before Zhents, before any faction on Faerun,_ Thay_ would be eager to offer you aid."

She frowned. "I doubt it would be the kind of aid I'd have any interest in."

"You think so? Yet it seems you have been left bereft of guidance. What are you actually capable of, godchild? Who are your enemies, and how are you to surmount them? What strength lies in your blood? How do you harness it; and how should you avoid having it stolen out from within you? You ought to be surrounded by panels of advisors. Yet Mystra and Oghma turn a blind eye to your suffering, and the great wizards you were raised to respect do nothing to assist you."

"And I suppose this is the point where you remind me there is an even _greater_ nation of wizards is just a short continent away," the ranger muttered. "All eager to fill me in on the details."

"Thay does not strongarm offers, girl. It sweetens them, and it sweetens them well. The Zhents may say what they will of us, but they know well we pride ourselves on building offers that are ludicrous to refuse. Obviously, as you have no grasp of infernal and little enough skill in haggling, _I_ would broker the deal on your behalf. I have the experience, family name, and connections to do just that. And before you say anything stupidly valiant about Thay and slaves; recall what _substantial _investment I have already made. It is... in my _best interest_ to ensure you emerge from the deal safely."

Aegis frowned, a little perplexed as she studied the wizard. "What would they want of me?"

"A racehorse," Edwin told her. Aegis' brows furrowed. "The game of divinity is one mages seldom get to play in, but earnestly _love_ to gamble over. Their interest would be to see you ascend to godhood one day; and they would happily invest a 'minor' contribution, like research or resources, in order to properly kit you for the run- no matter how sad your odds are. Because every racehorse is another entry in that divine gamble; another chance to win. And having two entries will always give you higher odds of a victory than one."

Aegis was stunned to silence, and her eyes widened as she realized what he was saying. It had never occurred to her, previous to that moment, that possessing divine blood qualified a person for making a bid at godhood. As she stood there, soaking in this new idea, Imoen came over and pouted.

"Edwin, are you offering a devil's deal to my sister?" the pink girl complained.

"Hush child; I am explaining to a lowborn peasant the basic principles of _investment portfolios_..."

"Edwin," Aegis murmured, "this may come as a bit of a shock to you, but I have absolutely no interest whatsoever in becoming a god."

It did come as a shock to him. He raised a brow and tilted his head to the side, confused. Then, when he realized she was serious, his brows furrowed. "_Why_?" Imoen looked between the two of them in startlement.

Aegis raised a brow. "Because I don't see the point of signing myself up for an eternity of encouraging people like Montaron, Nimbul, Mullahey, Khosann, and so on?"

Edwin stared at her, lips parted slightly. After a moment he uttered: "You would be a _god_."

"I heard you the first time," she lifted a hand and scratched at the back of her head. "I'm just twenty years old, Edwin, and I have many years yet to live. Why would I spend those years trying to escape life instead of just enjoying it?

"Have you any idea how much _power_, how much _authority_, comes with godhood?" he whispered, clearly flummoxed. "Why would you not_ leap_ at the opportunity, no matter how small? It is a potential other men _dream_ of."

"Other men need better dreams; It sounds lonely, stagnant, and pointless," she confessed quietly. "Gods don't _grow_, and gods don't change. They have to watch the world go past, and they can barely do anything to care about individual lives. I always reasoned that was why men like Elminster never asked for divinity from their patrons: They want to live, not just sit back and watch the greater forces at work on life."

Aegis had clearly stunned him. He had no idea what to say to her. She stepped back and reached out to ruffle Imoen's hair. "My answer might be 'no,'" the ranger told him, "but thank you for offering it, because now I think I understand why Xzar cautioned me to be wary of _all_ organizations... witches, Harpers, and paladins included. Excuse me."

...

* * *

"Hey!" Imoen piped up suddenly. "Hey, Ae! Before I forget! There's _one more thing_ Montaron mentioned to me that's like, super important!"

Aegis paused in her retreat and looked back to Imoen. Then she crossed her arms over her chest. "When exactly _did_ you see Montaron?" she asked suspiciously.

"Bah, not important!" Imoen protested as she waved everyone to gather around. "Everyone! Xzar? Are you lucid? Okay. Okay, so Montaron warmed me Xzar was a Deathstalker and half cleric. Check. And he mentioned he himself was fleeing down to Amn in a hurry to get out of the line of fire. Check."

Imoen took in a deep breath and continued: "But there's a third thing he told me. He said he had an old auntie who had just showed up out of the blue, after like a dozen years of bein' missing. He said she was also a Deathstalker, but she was helping him down to Amn."

"Tallix Snapdragon," Xzar murmured. "I met her."

Imoen looked at him in surprise and then shook her head. "Okay, but, that wasn't all. He said she used to be the Chosen of Bhaal."

Xzar lifted his head in surprise, looking at the thief

"And then the story gets even _weirder_," Imoen recalled. "Montaron said she claimed to know _Gorion_," the thief explained. "He said she knew both mine and Aegis' name and age, and who our parents were. She also called Gorion a great friend and used two pet names for him: _Rion_, and _Feathers_."

The tea mug slipped from Xzar's fingers and shattered on the floor. Aegis was too busy trying to process this to be startled.

"W-well," Khalid hazarded, "e-everyone who knew him as a young m-man tended to call him _Rion_. It was just a natural s-shortening."

Jaheira frowned, rubbing her chin. "And 'Feathers' is self-explanatory."

Aegis blinked. "What?"

"Ae," Imoen gushed excitedly, "Thalantyr, at High Hedge, claimed to have met Gorion. He said Mr. G was an _aasimar_, and when I looked surprised he mentioned the _feathers_ ought to have given him away."

Aegis straightened. "An aas- An _angel_? Part angel!?"

Jaheira jumped. "You did not know? How could you not _know_?"

"He hid it! I remember this now!" Imoen interjected. "Gorion used to complain about birds shedding on him from time to time, and once in awhile if I snuck into his room I might see a pile of feathers I never understood. They were always silver- Ae, I think he _plucked_ them!"

Aegis took a step back. "My father was _part celestial_?"

"He _plucked_ them!?" Jaheira exclaimed in horror. "Why would he do such a thing!?"

Imoen gave a huge, dramatic shrug. "How are we supposed to know? Thalantyr mentioned a grandmother? Hating someone he was related to? I don't know! He never told us about being a Harper either!"

"Oh sweet Sylvanas, that man," Jaheira moaned, pressing a hand over her face. "_Plucked_ them... Gorion, of all the ridiculous notion-!"

"He didn't want me to feel pressured," Aegis realized. "Especially after I found out what I-" She cut off and swallowed. "But wait, what the _hells_? A Chosen of Bhaal? A Chosen of Bhaal showed up in Beregost, claiming to know my father?"

"The halfling didn't have to actually _be_ his friend in order to know information about him," Edwin reminded them. "She could have been one of the adversaries hunting him. Which would mean there's a very deadly knife waiting in our shadows in case it sees an opportune moment to strike."

"Well... That's terrifying and humbling," Imoen realized. "By why come after Mr. G. specifically? Even the cant specifically mentions Ae's not the only one born like this."

Alone and unnoticed, Xzar slowly lifted a hand to cover his mouth. He was oblivious to the party's discussion as he considered the case of a Not-So-Very-Dead-Harper.

Xzar had presumed Gorion to be utterly helpless. Broken. Immobilized. Was this, then, the act of a desperate man? Had Xzar brought this on by talking to him?

_Old Harper, w__hat have you done? __You called in a Deathstalker to counter another Deathstalker? Are you mad? What do you know? How do you intend for this to end?_

Suddenly it was clear to him how very little any of them _really_ knew about Aegis' foster father.

...

* * *

"Wait," Imoen realized. "Elminster was droppin' clues on how Gorion's murder and the iron crisis were interrelated. Does... does that mean-?"

"Whoever's instigating the iron crisis might be a Bhaalspawn," Aegis confirmed. "And I think we can assume he is significantly less murder-impaired than I am."

Imoen shared a sudden look with Edwin as they each came to the simultaneous conclusion. "The Bhaalite creed is _death_, Aegis. I think we need to consider that there is a very real possibility he is _trying_ to start this war with Amn," Edwin voiced the realization for them both. "No, larger than that. If he's framing the Zhentarim... He is not just trying to start a war with _Amn_..."

"He's trying to set off a chain reaction," Imoen completed fervently, thinking of the line 'chaos will be sown in their passing.' "He's trying to get a lot of people to _die _in a big hurry."

Xan's face lit up with understanding. "That suddenly makes a horrific amount of sense," he realized. "And is a _much_ more informative motive than pure greed."

"Well then," Jaheira muttered fiercely. "What are we waiting for? Let's get out those documents Tazok was so kind to leave us, and figure out precisely where to hit this murdering warmonger _next_."

"Yes!" thundered a Rashemi, nearly scaring them out of their skins with his sudden gusto. To be honest, they had _almost_ forgotten he was there, he'd been so quiet. "Minsc understands_ this_! Let us defeat the horrible evil men with tooth, boot and steel! Eh, Boo will explain the more complicated parts to Minsc later. He is good at this, you see! A-almost as good as Dynaheir."

Edwin was leaning back from the sudden outburst as if he were concerned he might be pinioned at any moment by a greatsword.

Imoen pat the barbarian's arm. "I'm sure Dyn-dyn will come back soon," she reassured him. "She just needs to sort herself out. You'll see!"

Minsc squinted at her. "Sort... sort herself... out? Like Boo sorting red yarn from green...?" he asked slowly, not sure if he understood.

Imoen stared uncomprehendingly up at him for a moment. Then she looked to Aegis for help, as surely her sister was fast becoming an expert in crazy. The blonde shrugged as if the question made absolutely perfect sense: "Hamsters are colorblind. So yes, Minsc. _Exactly_ like sorting red yard from green."

The ranger deflated in realization. "She should have asked for _help_," he concluded sadly. "Boo _never_ sorts them right."

...

* * *

[Author's Note]

Okay so I just want to point out that the _hardest_ part of writing this big cast is when something is revealed in a large conversation. It's impossible to write enough test to cover how everyone would butt-in/argue/react with their faces/etc in real life. In real life, also, we tend to fall into huge round-robin shouting matches or else break off and talk one-on-one in order to communicate emotions more cleanly.


	16. Status Report

In which some things are expected, and others are not. Contains both a brief Fabulous Foster Father Flashback AND a present-day scene with Gorion, so keep in mind I use italics for flasbacks XD

* * *

**Status Report**

...

* * *

_When Gorion entered the tower grounds in the early morning hours, the only thing Khelben could think to do with Aegis was scoop her back into her cradle and cast a rapid sleep spell over her. He flit guiltily out of the suite, reached the stairwell before Gorion did, and intercepted the younger wizard on the ground floor._

_Gorion paused._

_Khelben blinked sleepily and furrowed his brows._

_The younger wizard was cloaked from head to toe in protective spells. He was carrying a small child who was bundled up in red deer leather and white fur. She had a large stuffed animal in one hand and the other arm was tight about Gorion's neck._

_"Are you starting a collection?" Khelben decided to ask, and blew over his cup of roast chicory. _

_The child jumped slightly. Gorion heaved a sigh. "This is not a Bhaalspawn. Khelben, I need your help so I don't walk into a disaster. My intuition says to trust someone I clearly can't trust."_

_"And how does that happen to involve a baby halfling?" the archmagus asked over a slurp of chicory. _

_Gorion leaned back and looked at Anaxa, whose little brows were wrinkled up as she noticed the presence of another stranger. Though she had just met Gorion, the halfling child grabbed reflexively hold of his hair. She seemed nervous. He gave her a reassuring little bounce_

_"I will not have her long," Gorion explained, looking up at Khelben. "This is a... a favor for a friend. Would you help me examine her for foul play before I abandon my caution to the winds and stupidly bring her near my daughter?"_

_"You don't trust this friend," the archmagus established with a frown._

_Gorion grimaced. "No. But now I can't dismiss her, either. Particularly not when she just thrustAnaxa in my face and begged me to keep her safe for a few days."_

_Babies did have quite the ability to complicate things, Khelben would be the first to admit. The moral ambiguity of the Bhaalspawn purges now rang louder than ever in his mind, and he craned over to have a look at the child. "A green-eyed halfling," Khelben noted, startled. Then he looked warily back up at Gorion. "This mysterious friend of yours; is she perhaps the reason for your uncanny insight into Jaheira's assassin?"_

_"I owe her a favor," Gorion grimaced._

_Khelben frowned. "And do I happen to know of this friend?"_

_"Aye... This child's full name is Anaxa Snapdragon."_

_Khelben blinked slowly as if conducting thorough mental processing to make sure he'd heard things correctly. "You are routinely communicating with a Zhent rogue whom you know was once hired directly by Kazgoroth?"_

_"It would be more accurate to say that she communicated with me whether I was happy about it or not." Gorion squirmed. There were so many things about Tallix he couldn't admit. __"I need your help. As unlikely and as untrustworthy a friend as Tallix Snapdragon might be, she dropped me information about Jaheira's assassin, and I wasn't going to leave a child in danger."_

_Khelben was quiet. Would that he had listened to his intuition about the morality of culling Bhaalspawn. So many things might have turned out differently. "Come," he sighed at last. "Let us go scry on this poor tot and ensure she is not some Pit Demon in disguise..."_

_"Thank you, Khelben," the aasimar sighed, petting Anaxa reassuringly and following after the archmagus._

_"Hnn. You are not the only one with friends in low places," the Lord of the Tower admitted._

_'Oh? If only you knew *how* low,' Gorion thought unhappily. But if anyone ever found out the old halfling was a Chosen of Bhaal, and that she had taken an interest in Gorion's daughter, then Aegis would be in very real and immediate danger from a large number of otherwise very good people. __He couldn't trust anyone with that knowledge... __Not even Khelben._

_"Is he a evil wizard?" Anaxa asked him in the Hin language. Gorion blinked and looked surprised at the little girl. These were her very first words to him, small and shy._

_"No," Gorion murmured gently. "He's the bestest kind ever, I promise."_

...

* * *

It was late in the afternoon when Imoen finally got to eat a real lunch. The table in front of the fireplace had already been taken, so she curled up in a booth to blow steam from the surface of her hot stew. It was filled to the brim with barley, potato, leek, carrot, celery and, of course, sausage. She thought about all the crazy things that had happened that day.

A polite cough drew her attention to a young man, a bard from Amn if she remembered correctly, who had approached her table and was trying to get her attention. He smiled and opened his mouth to say something when a Red Wizard stepped in between the two of them. Garbed in red silk once more, it seemed Edwin had successfully reclaimed his darned and laundered robes. He shooed the poor bard away with a mute glare and an irritable wave of a hand.

Imoen chuckled. "Hello to you too, evil wizard. Be _nice_."

The wizard turned to her, carrying a bottle of wine and two goblets. "I was lured here by the promise of scrolls," the wizard informed her. "So here is my question plainly: Can you focus on studying after all that excitement, or should I cut my losses and find something else with which to occupy my evening?

Imoen grinned and slid over to make room. "I'm sure the brothel has missed you too, Edwin," she teased, amused that he would try to call her excitable when he'd bought an expensive bottle of Westgate Ruby at no later than five in the afternoon. They both needed a distraction. "Specifically, I'm sure it missed your coin purse."

He gave a tolerant roll of his eyes and took the seat she'd offered as she set to rummaging through her pack. "Plenty of time for_ that_ later, I'm sure you realize. "

"Good, because," she turned haughtily to him with her chin lifted, and her voice fell into a thick and rolling Mulhorandi accent, "magic should be a wizard's firrrst prrriority."

"Or so I should hope," he muttered, unamused, as he poured the wine. He took a sip from his glass, sighed in contentment, and leaned back in the booth. He enjoyed the aroma for a moment before leaning over to see what Imoen was doing. As usual, he saw the results of her poor organizational habits; a Bag of Holding was a terrible place for Pink Kwefais to store anything they might need in a hurry.

Imoen blinked at him, and for a very brief moment it looked like she might shout out 'my shinies!' and close the bag. Then she seemed to recall the deal they'd made while clothes shopping, because she hesitantly went back to rummaging. His lips twitched; _Someone has hoarding tendencies, I see._

At last she procured a thick stack of layered parchment ("Aha!") and served the bundle onto the table between them both. Edwin straightened and reached forward to brush his thumb over the depth of the pile in appreciation. These were clearly the spoils of many merchant caravans and mageling guards.

"Good choice in wine, by the way," Imoen decided, taking her cup up thirstily. "Goes really well with hearty stew."

The Thayvian's thoughts derailed and he winced slightly.

Imoen glanced at him. Then a wide grin spread over her face as she instinctively recognized what he must be thinking. "Someone's picturing me as a tavern wench...!" she drawled with evil amusement. "With my hair all done up in a bun to keep it out of the food, and a skirt on my bum, carrying ale around on a saucer with drunk men hollering orders at me and sneaking gropes!"

He winced. Again. "That was absolutely _not at all_ what was on my mind, Kwefai. You think I care to ruminate on or imagine such plebian-?"

"You're probably wondering if I had the decency to at _least_ wear a proper chemise under the serving apron or if I just let my cleavage spill out all over the place like that wench here- what's her name? You've had her; start's with an 'M', right? Clearly not your favori-"

"Gods below," he complained into the palm of his hand. "I have no idea where to even begin chastising you, rude and perverted child, except to say that I have never in my life asked for a bar wench's name. Just her price tag. Now, _please_ shut _up_...!"

"You're thinking about me with a _price tag_!?" the pink thief wailed, scandalized.

"What!?" he spat in frustration, lifting his head rapidly at the sound of this familiar accusation. "No!" But Imoen was already laughing and he realized she'd been leading him on for the fun of it. With a scowl, he picked up the first scroll in an effort to identify it. "You give me headaches, whelp," he groused.

"Oh just put up with me like I put up with you!" she cackled "I've only had you back less than a week; I'm still giddy about it!" She pushed her bowl of stew between them so that he could share. "Try this by the way! It's spicy; you'll like it."

...

* * *

Aegis steered Xzar gently into their bedroom by both shoulders, and closed the door behind them with their foot. The wizard half-turned to look up at her, nervous disorientation clearly visible on his face.

"What could the stained glass- why are we here? It is not night. What are-?" he babbled foggily.

"Stay calm, Xzar," she told him firmly but gently. "You're threadbare and you need to take a few hours worth of rest."

"Thredbare?" he wondered, touching his mouth. "Am I made of cloth? What am I, then? A rug? A tapestry? A dress? Am I a nice dress, at least?"

"You are an exquisite ballroom gown with so many poofs that Imoen would be jealous of anyone wearing you," she promised him, scooting him forward towards the bed despite the fact that he didn't want to move his legs.

Xzar blinked rapidly. "I find that highly unlikely," he determined at last.

"Well, you're most probably right," she confessed, turning him about to sit him down on the edge of the bed. "In that case, I think you need to get some sleep." He blinked at the sheets and then her in alarm.

"No. No, I won't," he sputtered, grabbing at her and trying to squirm past.

Aegis blinked, clutching at his elbows and holding him in place. "Xzar, you really need to-"

"I won't! I won't do it, I won't submit- I won't close my eyes! Let go!" She didn't, holding fast. He thrashed himself. "Let go...! LET GO! STOP _TOUCHING_ ME!"

_Oh dear_. _I haven't heard one of those for awhile. _"Xzar!" she protested as he flailed so hard she was sure he had to be straining himself.

"Stop touching me! Stop touching me!"

She hissed in displeasure as he shrieked and fought and spat. When he suddenly _bit _her, she released his arms, grabbed his head in both hands, and jerked him up to face her. "Xzar, how many ribs do I have?" she demanded.

His pupils were dilated. His fingers caught on her gambeson, and he stared through her for a shaking moment. "You can't see! You can't watch the possi... the... Th-thir... thirty... Aegis has thirty ribs," he whispered. Then his face scrunched up, and tears beaded in his eyes. He kept trembling as they started to fall, and he told her:

"I'm scared."

Aegis' lips parted in shock, and she stared stupidly and uncomprehendingly at him for a moment. When another round of tears formed, she straightened a bit. "Come here," she told him. He gulped and sniffled and stepped hesitantly into her hold. This time, unlike last, he was tense and it seemed his skin prickled where she touched him. She slipped her arms loosely around him, and then twisted back towards the door to holler for Xan.

...

* * *

Xzar was asleep: Xan had graciously come in to the bedroom and helped Aegis talk the necromancer into a calmer frame of mind. After obtaining Xzar's consent, Xan cast a number of spells to ease the other wizard's mind and then ease him off to sleep. Afterwards, he took the time to properly ward the bedroom against intrusion. Aegis tucked her lover into the blankets and then spent the time to convince Pretzels that it was nap time. She bundled the kitten up beside his face, and stroked through his hair a few times before stepping out with Xan.

Branwen and Minsc were eating heartily downstairs. Xan sat beside Aegis and they talked haltingly about Xzar's mental state; and about the condition in which Aegis had originally met him. Edwin and Imoen were curled up over some magic scroll or another, and seemed oblivious to the outside world. Ajantis looked calmer, if stiff, when he returned from prayer and settled himself down at the tables where the rest of the party was gathering and eating. "Feeling better?" was Aegis' first question.

"Yes," he admitted as he took his chair. "Much, thank you. Do... do we happen to know where our path takes us next in investigating this iron crisis?"

"A spooky forest!" Minsc informed him sagely. "Boo pos-... _postulates_... it is much like the Eastern Orchards from back home!" Though no one knew enough about Rasheman to tell him whether this was true or not, they doubted spooky forests and orchards had much to do with one another.

"Our destination is Cloakwood," Xan supplied nasally, clearly dispelased. "A primeval, twisted forest which stand ominous and dark upon the opposite shore of the Chionthar river from Baldur's Gate. Some folk say it formed in deltas of unnatural soils flowing down from the infamous Battle of Bones and that, once a man has traveled beyond its gnarled border, the skies rain blood on festivals of the damned."

"Absolute hogwash," Jaheira informed him politely. "Nature reigns supreme in Cloakwood. Man enjoys calling the things which neither fear nor obey him 'evil.'"

"I'll take your word for it, as I have never before been there," Xan accepted. "Though I must presume _some _legitimate dangers must exist amid the stories of evil faeries, giant insects, carnivorous trees, ancient hags, and rampaging dragons. Even if we don't become miserably lost. Our odds, as usual, look _incredibly high_..."

It seemed Shar-Teel had finally awoke, because a few of the party members swore they heard the sound of her gait coming down the inn staircase. It _was_ her, and when she reached the ground they could see she was out of armor for once. Her fur-trimmed leathers looked no less brutish for lack of metal. Xan grimaced.

"I'm not worried about navigating in a forest," Jaheira muttered.

"Yes, because even _if_ we find the path to the mine," Xan agreed, "one look at this 'Davaeorn's' calligraphy leaves no doubt in my mind he's a mage. He's hidden out there, days from civilization, _day_s from anywhere we can resupply or retreat to, _fortified_ in some abysmal slave mine, and surround by elite mercenary guards."

"Slaves?" Ajanatis queried, and then recalled some of the stories about the bandits taking prisoners. Shar-Teel swaggered up behind him and he, sadly, was one of the few party members who did not notice her. She was wearing an uncharacteristic smile, and there was a _strange_ and unpleasant-looking bounce in her step.

"Gooood mooornningg preetty boy!" the fightress greeted loudly, slapping her hand down to grasp Ajantis' shoulder and nearly scaring the paladin straight out of his skin. Shar-Teel leaned over. Ajantis leaned away; but not far enough. She planted a rough smooch on his brow that left Ajantis cringing and Xan aghast. "Wasn't that _lovely_?" Then she gave a terribly sadistic laugh, stood up straight, and in a remarkably innocuous tone added: "Sorry I slept in again. Let me just get some breakfast, mm?"

Without throwing a barb at anyone, she turned on heel and strolled brightly off to find her food.

Silence reigned over the party for a moment. Ajantis was white with shock. Xan's lower jaw was limp. Branwen had paused with her last bratwurst dangling halfway to her mouth. Jaheira and Khalid looked flabbergasted. Minsc held Boo close to him as if to protect the rodent from unnatural forces at work. Edwin, who had otherwise been completely absorbed in studying, twisted about in his seat to gape. Imoen leaned out past his shoulder so she could have a look, too.

"Wow," Imoen exclaimed at last. "I don't think we've ever seen her happy outside of a bloodlust before."

"What in the seven hells happened?" Edwin demanded. "That was _perverse_. She didn't _hit anyone_. She did not utter the word 'men.' Everything about the encounter was _wrong_."

"Ajantis slept with her," Branwen reported dutifully. The paladin looked slowly over at her. "I think she likes him, only I wouldn't tell her so to her face."

"I see," Edwin thought on this. Another long silence passed over the group. Red and Pink shared a look. Then they drew out coin purses and the Thayvian asked on their behalf: "Exactly_ how much_ do we have to pay you to keep sleeping with her? And would you prefer your disbursements in gold, semi-precious stones, or some alternative form of currency?"

Ajantis turned from bone white to bright crimson within the space of a breath. He stared at the both of them for a moment. Then he planted his elbows on the table and sank his face into his hands, moaning out the feeble misery of a man who was sure his soul had been damned.

"By the look on his face," Imoen concluded, "you could probably get away with paying him in Cassil Leaf and pregnancy draughts."

Ajantis's head shot up as the possibility he had accidentally impregnated their fightress suddenly occurred to him. "Excuse me," he yelped, staggering out of his chair to reach Shar-Teel.

A third, long silence stretched over the party.

"So..." Jaheira hesitantly tried to help their minds recover. "Davaeorn... Wizards... Wizards are strongest on the defensive, in their own homes, when they have had time to prepare for every contingency their paranoid minds can imagine."

"Huh," Branwen acknowledged both the Shar-Teel incident and Jaheira simultaneously. She finished her final sausage and wiped off her hands. "Suppose that makes sense."

"Yes," Xan agreed dumbly. Then he shook his head rapidly and some animation came back into him. "Branwen, Aegis, you have seen what a well-placed invocation can do to tightly grouped enemies," he recalled who he was speaking to, and elaborated: "such as a _Fireball_ or _Lightning Bolt. _We will be plumbing narrow and unfamiliar corridors. Davaeorn has an exceptional tactical advantage just being on his own turf, even before factoring in wards, wands, guards, and other security measures."

"But," Jaheira stressed, "with Baldur's Gate closed to us, this is where we must go to continue our investigation. Wizard or not."

"She's probably right," Branwen told Xan, and she smiled at his defeated sigh. "Well, little man, I've finished eating. I'm going to head up to the room for a spell, alright? Try not to despair too much while I'm gone." Xan nodded in understanding as his cleric reached out to clasp his shoulder.

Xan watched Branwen go, and a faint and unexpected mouth curved his mouth. Her hips swayed naturally as she walked.

Khalid looked between the Moon Elf and the departing Norheimer. It occurred to him that their enchanter was absolutely staring, and so Khalid smiled delightedly. He leaned over beside Xan and gently touched the elf's shoulder.

[Go after h-her,] Khalid encouraged in a whisper.

Xan raised a brow, startled by this and uncertain how to respond.

[We won't b-be moving for a d-day or so. T-take advantage of the chance to rest.]

The wizard looked uncertainly downward, as if he wasn't sure what to make of this advice. Then a smile flickered over his face again, stronger this time. [You are right,] Xan agreed. [Thank you.] He stood and pushed his chair in, and hurried along after Branwen.

"Well..." the Aegis began, surrendering the fight to figure out Shar-Teel, "whether the woods or the wizard is more problematic, we can at least be sure we need money." She sat back in her chair. "I'm not marching into trouble without proper provisions and the best gear we can get our hands on."

Jaheira wasn't convinced this would work. "If we wait too long, winter snow could make Cloakwood impassible," she argued.

"Then we need money _fast_," Aegis countered, trying to think.

A suavely dressed man wove his way up alongside their table. He reached Aegis' side to the untrusting expressions of most of the party members, and leaned over almost playfully. Aegis glanced up at his smirking countenance in surprise.

"I do believe I just heard something _interesting_," Eldoth Kron purred warmly. "Did someone perhaps use the words 'money' and 'fast' in the same sentence together? Or was I hearing things?"

...

* * *

Xan paused as he entered the bedroom, staring ahead. He swallowed sympathetically.

Branwen had removed her bandages and now stood nude before their mirror, turning this way and that to have a look at herself. Her flesh had been thoroughly pitted with scars from the ordeal with the Nigthmare. The healed tissue was irregular, brown, and furrowed.

Then he caught sight of her face; and abruptly the elf realized she was smiling. His posture straightened as he realized Branwen was _admiring_ herself. Admiring flesh that would never again be unblemished; marks that would never fully heal!

His lips parted slightly. Although he was not unfamiliar to the concept of glorifying scars, a small part of him wanted to be horrified. After a moment, his mouth lapsed into a warm smile. As usual, nothing could damper Branwen's spirits. It was one of the things he loved about her.

"Well," he called fondly, stepping forward. "You certainly did put a lot of holes in yourself, Lady of the Isle." Branwen turned and gave him a big grin.

"Damn certain I did!" she cheered. "Look at this one! It's shaped just like islands it is! Beautiful!"

It did bare some resemblance, he admitted, if one looked at it sideways. "I suppose you will be boasting about it and its siblings in taverns all along the coast?" he asked her.

"Ha! Well Jaheira offered to try and dampen a few of them if they were giving me any discomfort, so I'm having a good look at them. The one on my shoulder blade stretches odd when I stretch out the arm. But it's a right nasty looking thing; I'd be sad to see it fade. What do you think?"

She twisted so he could see the scar in question. Xan took in a slow breath. Then, after a moment's inspection, he lifted a hand up to touch the mended flesh. Streaks were raised along her skin, flanked by small divots; the elasticity of the skin altered from place to place.

He took in a slow, deep breath. "Well, if it is truly no bother then you should keep it. But it seems you know it needs to be mended, and you are trying to talk yourself out of it," he told her.

"Bah, well, you're probably right," she agreed. "As usual." She smiled. "I didn't worry you too much while I was mending did I?" she asked, turning to look at herself in the mirror again.

"Worry me? Yes, Nildoen'nin. If it were possible to spontaneously implode from worrying, rest assured I would have done so."

She broke out laughing and turned about to put an arm around him. "I'm sorry wee man, I should have thought of you and kept my wits about me with regards to defense. But the battle was just so _enlivening, _and I can be foolish a'times, I suppose."

He sighed heavily. "It was hardly your fault."

She grinned broadly and leaned over that she might touch her forehead to his hair. He blushed slightly and she recalled the horror story he'd just recently told her. Just thinking about that put a fire burning in her gut; and she hated the damn pig who had dared to touch her dainty wizard.

"Er... right. Let me get some clothing on," she decided, and she moved to pull away from him. But the elf stiffened in surprise then, and reached out swiftly to grasp her elbow.

"Wait." She looked curiously back at him. "I... Just because I am slightly uncomfortable, Branwen, does not mean I wish you to draw away. I am... indebted to you for how far you have already pushed me... and for how gently you have done it."

"Eh? Not a matter of 'debts' wee man," she remarked, turning back to him and brushing her knuckles gently against his chin. "Was brave of you, you know. How you saved me. I knew you could fight, of course, but hearing that you stood over me and faced down my doom with a sword in hand... Well! Even hearing it second hand t'was certainly moving."

He stared up at her face for a moment, his eyes closing to slits as he lightly touched her hand and wrist. "I was desperate, not brave," he told her quietly. "I knew I would lose you if I faltered in my conviction for a moment... and I..." He closed his eyes. "I could not let that happen. Again."

She was quiet a moment. Then she lifted her hand gently to touch his hair, cheek, and ear.

He opened his eyes slowly and smiled. "May I help you bathe, Nildoen'nin?" he requested.

She tapped his nose. "I'll even let you rub that flowery soap you like in my hair."

...

* * *

Gorion and Tallix reached the Red Canyons shortly before nightfall, and managed to find the wide, squat cave entrance which led down into a network of winding tunnels. The weather had worsened. Thick, icy droplet splattered up against their cloaks and streamed down along the fabric to drip in rivulets to the earth.

It was going to be difficult to pitch camp without flooding their tents, but Tallix was set against heading into those sprawling caverns until morning. She had sparked a dramatic change in Gorion's life only that morning, and it had been many years since the two of them had last adventured properly. She wanted to give the wizard a solid night's sleep before they headed down into the bloody _Underdark_.

So they trekked some distance from the cave and looked for a discrete overhang or ledge which might accommodate a tent or two. They found one as sunlight waned swiftly beside the already dim and unfriendly cloud cover.

"It ain't much, but it'll keep our toes dry," the small woman reckoned. She wasn't keen on stumbling about gnoll territory, in the dark, on a moonless night, with an aging human to worry about- even one whom she was sure had prepared an _infravision_ spell. Everyone with half an ounce of adventuring sense knew gnolls were nocturnal and loved themselves a spot of bad weather to ambush in, after all.

"We should build a fire to ward off the chill," Gorion suggested, as he'd be able to dry tinder and conceal the light. "And as this will be our last opportunity for a warm dinner, we should make the most of it."

"Not much room for a fireplace _and_ both tents," the halfling argued as she slipped under the overhang and eased off her pack.

The wizard stooped that he might enter the shelter, and then eased back his hood. His face was slightly ruddy from the chill; but he found the ground within the shelter to be dry. It would indeed keep their toes warm. "Surely you have not forgotten that we can share a tent, my friend," he reminded her.

The halfling paused and looked back at him.

The wizard met her gaze and blinked expectantly.

"A..." Tallix hazarded, "About that, Rion..."

"Mm? About sharing tents?" he requested innocent clarification as he shook excess moisture from his cloak.

"Don't play coy," the old assassin muttered at him. "Where do we stand, exactly? Been nearly fourteen years; and a whole lot of water has gone flowing under bridges. Nae ta mention we weren't expectin' ta ever see each other again."

Icy eyes flit to her for a blank and expressionless moment. "I must inquire of you as to what part of 'we can share a tent' was abstruse in its implications," the monk requested with patient curiosity.

Tallix looked at him in surprise. She stared for a long moment and then sighed heavily and rubbed her face. "Ri, I think ye may be feelin' a _little_ outta year element with all that ye been goin' through these last few months. Dinnae burn yerself out into another disillusioned depression, jest because yer grateful someone finally talked ye inta walkin' outta that jail cell."

The wizard tilted his head to the side. Then he shook his head and settled his pack down. Without another word, he began gathering up smooth stones to form a campfire ring.

"Feathers," she protested, coming up to dissuade him.

He paused, cocked his head to the side, and ground his teeth laterally as he considered his reply. Then he looked up at her with half-mast eyes. "I assure you, Tallix Snapdragon, that it took significantly longer to acclimate myself to your company than could be represented by a single act of kindness and a few hours of walking about in the rain. So if that is your concern, swiftly discard it."

"Well, aye," she agreed that was true, "but as fer then, ye were jest lonely. Bein' desperate for friends ye can't let near, that doesn't mean ye-"

"Tallix?" Gorion fixed her with a look and then issued the remarkably concise: "_Shut up_."

Her brows lifted in surprise at the terse vulgarity. He went back to building his fire. A silence stretched between them aside from the pounding rain and the clatter of smooth stones sliding into place.

"One tent, comin' right up," the small woman agreed, faintly.

"I will attend to the cooking," her wizard promised her. "I have hopefully picked up a thing or two from observing Winthrop over the years."

...

* * *

Xan held the back of his cleric's neck gently in the palm of his hand, and supported her head snugly against the crook of his elbow as he sponged along the length of her neck. Dried blood and accumulated sweat sloughed off beneath his gentle touch.

Branwen relaxed heavily into the tub. Her eyes were closed and she was doing no work to support her head. The sponge started off at the flesh behind her ear, gently cleansing her hairline. Then his knuckles grazed her chin as he pressed the sponge slowly down the length of her throat and over the curve of her collar bone. The pressure let up as the sponge glided down over the top of her breast and into the steaming water.

Her cheeks were understandably rosy.

He lifted up the dripping sponge and squeezed it free of excess water. Another slow and patient caress made its winding path down from her temple to sternum. The skin of his forearm was smooth and silky as it ran against her throat.

Heat bloomed further across her face. She could almost feel him smile as he pressed his mouth gently against the back of her head. His sponge rose and fell gently over her shoulders and dipped down to massage grime from her shoulder blades where it had build up against the edges of the bandages.

There was was silence between them but for the gentle movements and trickles of water.

"Where I'm from," Branwen said abruptly, "we don't show affection like this. Guess we're an impulsive lot, even," she chuckled. "Rough and and earnest and blunt. Not subtle, or thoughtful, like this."

"You are particularly thoughtful, my sweet. But I presume there is nothing truly wrong with either approach. Social customs differ from place to place," he supplied, and it was a testimony to how well he'd healed over the last few months that he showed no insecurity at what her expectations might be. "Elvish 'tradition,' for example, is usually to consider love as a form of art."

"Oh? And what do you think of that, sassy wizard?" she asked, picking up on a hint of sourness in his tone.

A wry smile overtook his voice. "I see my skepticism is fast becoming predictable." He tilted his head thoughtfully to the side as he worked. "People who feel the need to espouse on the _lauded sophisticatio_n of elvish lovemaking... _irritate_ me. Badly. As does _anyone_ who glorifies, well... nearly anything," he admitted.

"Aha. How is that really different from seeing Doom in everything, by the way?" she chortled.

"Ah. Understand, Nildoen'nin," he pulled hair gently back from her ear as he sponged her, "my problem is not with _optimism_, for all its recklessness. What I take issue with is self-righteousness. People who sound their own clarions; or those of their masters; and then call it _virtue_. It is maddeningly irrational."

The Norheimer reasoned this might explain Xan's relationship with Ajantis. "What do _you_ think of love?" she asked. "If you're not keen on calling it art, but you're also clearly no Norheimer."

He hesitated, and the sponge paused against her clavicle Then she felt the ghost of his lips against her ear, and a tingle rushed through her to the tips of her fingers and the soles of her feet. His voice was low when he suggested: "It sounds like something worth taking the time to do well."

She gulped. " 'Well' sounds nice," she blurted.

...

* * *

"Kivan, I wanted to-"

"You promised to be silent," the ranger reminded her coarsely. The sound no longer came out as a strained rasp; now there was something rich and primal in the timbre of his voice.

Viconia eyed the back of his cloak. "I would appreciate being granted temporary permission to talk to you."

He came up short, stabbing the hell of his longbow into the ground and whirling on her with a dangerous look.

She straightened, and shifted her weight. When he said nothing she lowered her gaze hesitantly. She was used to being either alone, hunted, or the daughter of a matron; tactful conversations did not come naturally to her. "You most likely saved my life."

"Unintentionally," the wild elf agreed.

Her gaze lifted to him and then she sneered and looked away from him. "If it is to be that way," she muttered.

Green eyed narrowed. "What do you want, drow?"

"To work as units of a team instead of as temporarily buffered enemies," she answered in monotone, not trusting her voice to stay unbiased under the weight of his enmity.

"Your people are born traitors, sadists, and opportunists, and you speak to me of _teamwork_?"

"Did I not _leave_ my people?" she asked angrily, looking back at him. "Am I not _here_?"

"Not voluntarily, I'd wager," he sneered derisively. "The spider queen shat you out, and Shar swallowed whole her leavings. That is what you are: the refuse which sinks beneath the drow, not the_ exception_ which rises above it."

Her eyes narrowed at him, and her teeth clenched. She stood there, fuming internally and unable to say anything. Kivan snorted and turned away. Her fists balled up at her side.

"Do you take _comfort_ in hating me?" she spat incredulously. "A failed ranger, a failed husband, who could not even lay his life down for his mistress; what would she think of the pathetic and self-pitying thing you've become-?"

The wild elf spun back to her, an arrow already drawn with the bead on her face. His eyes dared her to keep talking.

She lifted her chin, her throat tense and her mouth twitching.

"Never," he breathed, "ever, speak of her again, you dark-hearted _bitch_ or you will die for it."

Viconia said nothing for a moment. Then she looked down, and her nose wrinkled. "That was low and I... apologize," she muttered bitterly.

An ugly, surprised laugh tore out of his throat. "Do not patronize me with your faux sympathy, daughter of spiders."

Her gaze lifted to him. "Are you truly oblivious of the fact that I have never struck at you first in all of these exchanges? Every manner in which I've ever offended you has been a retaliation for some liberty you've taken in threatening or insulting me! How do you expect me to reply?!"

"Your existence offends me, dark elf," he replied. "As it should offend Xan, and the naive squire you've ensnared. They may have been blinded by your willes, but to me you are as transparent as glass and I know you _well_ for what you are."

Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head, more in resignation than anger. "It was a darthiir infant."

His brows furrowed uncertainly. "What?"

"The thing which Lolth 'shat me out' for. It was bawling, and tiny; I didn't see what threat it could pose, and I hesitated over it at the sacrificial altar. That was all it took to damn me: a moment's uncertainty. The child died anyway, Lolth abandoned me, and the beginning of the end came for our entire house. I learned firsthand how insane and _juvenile_ our goddess could be, even if I refused to believe it at first."

Kivan eyed her. Then, when he realized she was serious, he turned fully towards her and the bow drifted off target.

"You know nothing about me, male," Viconia told him in a low voice. "What you might have known, you've disregarded in favor of some internal picture you've imagined of me: some ideal elvish enemy. I suppose you _must_ take comfort in hating me. It gives you something straightforward to do."

...

* * *

When the bathing 'ritual' was complete, Branwen stepped once more before the mirror as she toweled off her hair. Her face was still heated from how intimately Xan had treated her, and she hoped to distract herself with the scars that she might buy a minute to calm down.

Xan dried off his hands, his eyes half-lidded as his mind sorted through a great many things _elsewhere_. He came up softly behind her as she examined the scars; his fingertips brushed again over marks on her shoulder blades.

_Well, there went the distraction plan__, _she admitted, her breath hitching slightly in her throat. _I never thought that I'd be interested in a- ... well, nevermind what I once thought. Now it's getting harder and harder to ignore him. _

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

"That you've a touch as soft as a butterfly," the cleric remarked, turning about to smile at him.

Xan seemed calm and introspective as he met and held her gaze. He said nothing as he studied her expression. Then his eyes lowered to her feet and traced slowly up the length of her body. Branwen straightened in surprise, and became incredibly aware of the fact that she was nude. Her face burned and her eyes widened. His attention roved back and forward across her as it lifted, in an inordinately languid and meticulous fashion. Here and there his gaze lingered, as if memorizing details.

_By Valkur's mighty blade, little man, do you have the foggiest idea what you are doing to me?_

At long last, when his gaze reached her face, he held her stare for several moments. Then he docked his head to the side.

"Would you like to try something, sweet one?"

"Uh," she grunted out, and then gave a little shake as she snapped out of her daze. "Aye, that I would."

He frowned curiously. "Did my scrutiny have such an effect on you?"

Branwen stared at him a moment. "The man spends half a minute staring at a woman's naked breasts, belly, legs, and crotch; and then asks her if his scrutiny had an effect..." she noted, lowering her gaze a little bashfully and smiling wide. "Cannae tell if this is a wizard thing, an elf thing, or a Xan thing..."

He choked out a laugh and then grinned down at the ground a moment before their gazes met again. "I..." He stepped closer to her. "I may not be capable of following up on all of that," he reminded her more out of habit than fear.

She followed him with her eyes and rested a hand on one hip. "Nae really an issue betwixt us." She had to admit: "Though if we're pushing into those waters, do be forgiving me a wee bit of excitement. I cannae fake indifference to you_ that_ well."

Those words would have burned holes through his courage once, but from Branwen they held no euphemisms or expectations; she always said exactly what she meant, and he had come to trust that. "Would you permit me to..." he hesitated, before stepping directly into her personal space and lifting a hand up to brush feather-light over the base of her sternum, between her breasts. "To _touch_ you?"

Branwen stiffened. Her mind flit to the conversation they'd had _only_ the night before. "That... seems a real quick rebound for you, all things considered."

He nodded. "It is. Perhaps the shock of it gives me courage," he postulated. "Courage to... to do what I already know I wish to." His fingers trailed slowly down the midline of her belly, and his gaze did not leave her face. "Let me make love to you."

She grabbed his wrist almost reflexively and took in a hard breath as she stood back from him. "You-! That's a mite quick! I don't want to hurt- Don't be _daft!_" she reproached him in a rush, startled.

"Wait. I wasn't suggesting actual sex," he explained quickly, his eyelids creasing as if he were afraid she'd refuse him. "It has occurred to me that I am not opposed to touching you in the same manner as I am reluctant to be touched."

Branwen frowned, her brows coming together in confused and curious suspicion. She wasn't knowledgeable about how a person made love without having sex. But after a moment she realized she was inclined to believe him that such things were possible; her wizard was certainly unlike any man she'd ever been with. She straightened and puzzled over this dilemma for a moment.

"Xan, are suggesting this because you've got it into your sweet head that I'm pining away, suffering for masculine company, or the like? Because, if so, I'm going to tweak one of your ears and tell you you're a goose."

The elf scowled, leaning backwards and crossing his arms over his chest. The hesitance left his face, and he fixed her with a look of almost saucy displeasure. "Well excuse me, madam, for wanting to touch my own lover," he apologized haughtily. "I shall be doubly careful next time not to let any such _fanciful_ ideas flit through my head."

Branwen blinked in surprise. A wave of unexpected delight washed through her. She took in a slow breath and then a laugh leaked out from between her lips. After a brief moment she stepped forward again and untied his cross-armed defensiveness, pulling his slender hands into her own. "A-alright. You've got my attention," she submitted. "That was a very attractive pout you pulled off just there."

He squeezed her fingers and blushed a little. "Well it was spur of the moment. Now I'm not sure what to say; I've suddenly become nervous."

She shook her head and leaned over (far over) to touch her brow to his. She said nothing to him; merely held onto his hands and kept him close. Her elf closed his eyes for a moment. He breathed in deeply and then looked up to her and released one of her hands. With the other he turned and tugged her wordlessly towards the bed.

Afraid but excited, she followed.

...

* * *

[Author's Note]

I seem to remember promising some people some exciting stuff about this 'M' rating...


	17. Confidence

**Incoming Extraordinarily NSFW Degree M Rating.  
****Please obey all laws relevant to your respective areas.  
**

...

* * *

_**Confidence**_

...

* * *

Xan did not speak a word to her; as if he feared that framing his thoughts might banish his courage.

He led her up to the side of the bed and then placed his hands upon her hips to guide her onto the bed. He pressed for her to lay down at it's center, and she obliged him and pulled one of the pillows up under her head. It seemed to take him a moment of deliberation to decide whether or not he ought to insist on throwing blankets over her. When she did not seem uncomfortable, he appropriated the second pillow and made to squeeze it under her hips. A curious thrill ran through her, and she lifted her butt up temporarily to facilitate him.

His fingers ran gently over her knee and calf as he settled down and crossed his legs. He drew out a kerchief and laid it neatly upon his lap, and then he extracted his belt knife that he might quickly trim his nails. Branwen watched the look of thoughtful concentration on his face, and the mechanical motions of his hands; it was as if the linguistic part of his brain had shut off, and that he was completely focused on the present. She wet her lips and tried to figure out what was making_ her_ feel so skittish.

The elf finished tidying his hands, wrapped up the kerchief, and set it tidily onto the nightstand. Then he put his belt sash aside as well, presumably to make himself more comfortable, though he did not undress. For a moment longer he seemed lost in his own private world. Then his cyan eyes alighted on her face and widened slightly.

A curious smile spread over Xan lips. He hesitated a moment, uncertain what to say. Then he leaned over his cleric that he might give closer inspection to her uncharacteristically nervous expression. _Where did this come from?_ She watched him, blushing and _shy_, and he savored the sight of her. _Hanali. __Warpriestess, Branwen, Meldonin, there is nothing in the world as attractive as you, shy._

His fingers found her cheek and then her chin, and then he leaned in close to press his mouth to hers. He kissed her lovingly, searching for all the sensitive places of her lips and mouth; and he ran his fingertips through the spill of her bright, yellow hair.

Branwen took the kisses with a sudden, greedy fervor. She might have clung to, wrapped around, or even tussled with a hardier man. With Xan, she rested her hands tentatively at his waist and otherwise laid where he had placed her. _'Where you lead, I follow,'_ she had once told him; and it seemed he'd deliberately kept his robes on. Still, as her fingers drifted up and down over the violet cloth, she was _excited_.

The elf settled down on one hip and one elbow alongside her. His opposite hand slipped gently down from her cheek, to her clavicle, and then down over her chest. Her grasp tightened reflexively at his ribs, and she thought of how strange it was to be able to feel _ribs_ beneath a person's clothing and skin.

Then elvish fingertips wove under her arm to run so lightly along her side that they almost tickled. His touch changed course and his palm pressed up to cup the weight of her breast. His thumb swept across her with unearthly lightness, and her breath hitched strangled within her throat.

Xan quivered and did not immediately renew his latest kiss. He swallowed and furrowed his brows, staring down into the Norheim woman's confused and eager face. _Has no one ever doted on you before? _he wondered. His thumb circled gently around rosy flesh and then swept again across its captured, feminine bud. Branwen took in another sharp breath. _No one, _he concluded with an involuntary release of breath. A strangely possessive thrill shot through his breast. _I want to. I will show it to you, first and before any other man. _Better_ than any man...!_

He ducked his head and brushed his next kiss over her collarbone. He dampened the skin gently and then blew soft over it; and tingles of delight shot through him as she _writhed_. She was so warm. Compared to him, Branwen was a furnace of heat. His fingertips could not help but gravitate temporarily down from her breasts to study all of features; and he marveled, as always, just how _different_ she was.

Branwen was anything but petite; and to feel the sheen of body fat beneath a person's skin was still a very curious sensation for him. But her people were used to chill waters and foreboding hillsides; they subsisted on a diet of oily ocean fish, pork, root vegetables, and whale meat; and it only made sense for them to be so hardy. Though Xan would never tell Branwen so (as such comparisons might sound unflattering) he was tempted to use the metaphor of a 'whale' or 'seal' to describe her state of health; for these were the only aquatic creatures he knew of whom nature had fully intended to be fit and smooth while plump.

Xan could not be said to have a 'human fetish;' but _Branwen_ in specific was all in one strange, different, familiar, and _beautiful_. He took this opportunity to touch and caress and _learn_ her.

There was a look of _fascination_ on his face. Branwen closed her eyes to slits, breathing deep as her dainty elf examined her. That she should be _fascinating_ to anyone was a new experience. She breathed deeply, trying to keep a handle on tingling impulses and sensations which had little to no outlet. She scarcely knew what to do with herself. Her fingers chafed affectionately along his back and shoulder, and slipped through his silky hair.

The elf's fingers traced gently down the lines of her hips. He shifted thoughtfully and then propped himself up on his knees and raised his attentions up past her waist once more. Each elf woman was different about their breasts, he had learned, in manners of comfort and sensitivity; many wanted to have them touched, and many others were not interested in having them fondled at all. He supposed human women were the same in their variety, even if Branwen anything but elvish.

Though, elf woman's breasts, Xan recalled in a slightly removed way, were pert, palm-sized, rounded, and frequently seemed quite content to defy gravity. Branwen's were voluptuous and drooped under their own weight, sagging however they were deposited. As he started to touch them, he spent several moments operating under the erroneous presumption that he ought to have found them unattractive, before giddily realizing that they were one of the best things he had ever encountered in all his many years. They were like soft, attractive, warm, malleable, feminine globes of... _pudding_.

Pudding? He was either hysterical, or Imoen was rubbing off on him. Perhaps both. Perhaps it was simply inevitable that he end up comparing Branwen to food.

Fine! He accepted the comparison: pudding, indeed. Delirious was better than frightened. Hysterical but anchored; Better than being afraid of _her_. A corner of his mind tried to call him back to his senses, and he ignored it.

He settled close beside his lover, caressing those spectacular breasts in adoring circles with his palms and thumbs. The look on her face, as she shuddered and whimpered in delighted confusion, was worth dying for. He was almost gleeful. Almost? His palms smoothed down over her belly and thighs, tracing old and new scars as he shifted his position. He steadied a hand against her hip, bowed his head, and investigated one of those breasts with his lips.

His warpriest bucked at his intimate ministration, and she gave a soft and startled cry. Ripples of delight tingled through him. _Seldarine above, I am here. I am here, I am here, and I will not leave you disappointed...! H_e hummed gently into her bosom as he teased her.

"Nnh... Xan..." Her fingers scrabbled for purchase in his hair and against the fabric of his robes. She was trying not to impede or oppose him. He detangled her fingers from his hair, and brought them to his ear.

She touched him, hesitantly at first and then with more calibrated motions. A warmth spread out to the tips of his fingers and toes, and he closed his eyes momentarily in appreciation of her.

Then his brows furrowed and he smoothed a hand down the length of her hip and belly. The fingers eased into dense yellow curls between her legs. Her legs shifted hesitantly, and her fingertips briefly stilled against the tip of his ear. He swallowed and was evasive in his exploration at first, finding the seams where her thighs met her pelvis and tracing between the overlapping flesh there.

Branwen wormed and frowned. Then she chose to rub the tip of his ear as gently as she could between her thumb and forefinger. Her wizard nearly convulsed, he gave such a dramatically surprised shudder. His other hand tightened on her hip, and he released her breast long enough to take in a sharp breath of air. She tried to steal a kiss. He lifted his head to give her one.

Then, between her legs, a delicate touch dipped inquisitively over her bud and retreated just as quickly. She nearly jumped, and breathed hard before grasping another kiss from him. Between her legs, the touch returned for another featherlight brush. He propped himself up over her, pushing her head back into the pillow and smothering her whimpers with his mouth. Again and again he teased the bud of her sex, so lightly it was hard to fathom. His skin was _smooth; _even the flesh of his hands. Her knees bent and she kicked slowly at the sheets, alternating between trying to forbid or welcome the intimate attention. Tingles rippled down her tailbone, up through her breasts, and straight to the crown of her head.

_Auril, how far can this go!? _the Norheimer wondered, her thoughts a blur and her body tumbling internally with sensation. She nearly wanted out of her skin. No man had ever touched her like this; the nearest she'd experienced was a few curious strokes before being mounted, or else firm groping through the act. Not that such things were- _Gods, Sune, stop- no- no- keep- keep doing-!_

She cried out involuntarily, in amazement, as he finally released the kiss. He chuckled low and deep and the _sound_ had an amazing effect on her. The featherlight teasing halted; replaced instead by a slow caress that secured him a second cry.

His palm smeared gently lower and over her, and his fingers laced gently through the petals he found there. For a short while, he touched her as if appraising her- as if studying every crevasse and fold, the thickness of her flesh, the heat she gave off, and her pulse. Her breath escaped in heavy pants as she tried to calm down to these less poignant sensations. His fingers gently approached her sexual passageway and depressing gently about it as if demarcating it. Her breathing started to calm down Then his fingers drew gently back up the center of her, and curled to find their way under her hood and into where the bud of her pleasure was.

She threw her head back and swore violently Waelen, her fingers bunching up in his robes and hair again. Her toes curled and she bent her knees a little more. His fingers slipped down and up, down and up, until she could handle them encircling her hood. That was nice. That was comfortable: balanced at the border between too much and too little. Each patient circle of his forefinger extracted a coo from her lips, as her brows narrowed as if in intense concentration.

He eased his knees one of his knees between her own to partially straddle her, and then settled himself down to rest against her skin. While she was busy focusing, he stole one of her breasts again.

As parts of her grew desensitized, and her sounds grew frustrated, he wetted his fingers with her honey and moved his strokes to center between her petals; luxuriously running up and down. Her cries were deeper than coos now; desperate and overwhelmed and senseless. She no longer had the focus or concentration to caress him back with any steadiness; instead her fingers remained fixed on his shoulders.

He lifted his hand again to capture her bud between thumb and forefinger, and rotated the former in a slow circle around the opening of the hood. She cried out sharply and squirmed, and he knew it was too much. He lifted the pressure and slowed down the touch. Slowly, painstakingly slowly, he moved over her. A long, low, thrilled groan leaked out from between her lips. Her hips rocked almost reflexively.

Thrilled. Secure. _Confident._ Brave.

The elf kissed her sternum and then slowly eased his touches to a halt. She bit her lip and trembled and whimpered, not sure what to do with herself. He placed his hands against the sheets, pushed himself back, and drew his other leg between her knees.

"X-xan-...!" she begged, caught between miserable and blissful.

He paused and looked directly into her face. The sharp cyan of his eyes was almost slightly metallic or luminescent, and stood out brilliantly from his pale skin. He tilted his head to the side as if curious. Then abruptly a slightly knavish look overtook his face. He bit his lower lip for a moment as if he could barely contain a wonderful secret. Then he winked at her- winked at her!- and settled himself down against her thighs. His hands smoothed up and down the sides of her body. Then palms eased up slowly to the borders of her pelvis, and the thumbs came down to ease gently up the midline of her rosy, engorged flower.

A shudder rippled down her spine. "What are you doing?" she blurted.

"Bestowing a kiss," the elf murmured, as his thumbs carefully found the edges of the hood and teased them back from her bud. He lowered his head to that place and kissed her, precisely as he said he would.

She blinked for a moment, confused. Then, as his tongue flicked and whirled over her, her eyes widened and a shaky moan oozed out from her chest. Her arms trembled, and her fingers latched tightly onto the sheets. "Xan," she mumbled, her thighs clasping at his shoulders, and then she sighed out his name again in a breathy: "...Xan...!"

He got a hand under her and traced gently up over the perineum and through what petals he could reach. She was dripping with her own honey; unlike anything he had imagined, to the point where it had run down to her tailbone; but he teased her a moment longer before depressing gently at her entryway with a finger. Her body welcomed it easily as she clenched and struggled, and he tried to use it to scout out her pleasure. He stroked towards her belly, slightly side to side, and then deeper in and out. He lapped gently between her petals so as not to overstimulate her as he searched.

A second finger helped him find what she needed him to touch, buried under a sturdy wall of muscle. He knew he'd found it when the entire sound of her vocalizations changed and she lifted her hands to cover her face and tug through her own hair. She was faltering in and out of her native tongue: _"Déithe, le do thoil, gods- Xan! _Don't stop- don't- there-! ah- _a dhiabhail! __Is do theanga iontach!__" _Her calves wrapped tightly around his back.

He used three fingers and she scraped frantically at the headboard to get some amount of leverage. Her hips rocked needly against him as he scooped his fingers up into her. Her muscles were thickening; tightening. He kept his fingers deep and moved them slowly and firmly; by contrast, he fluttered his tongue rapidly over her hood and bud. Her walls clamped around him like a vice as he pressed. She fell dead silent. He held up his ministrations a moment more, and then she howled in ecstasy and her internal walls trembled violently about his fingers.

Branwen's mind was painted stalk white for the better part of a minute. She could not think _anything_; she _was_ her orgasm. The next thing she became conscious of was her heartbeat, pounding dramatically in the confines of her chest. A soothing sensation brought in an awareness of her body, and she became conscious of the slender man clasped between her legs. He had been running his fingertips slowly and gently over her petals, easing her down from her high with all the lightness of a feather.

The Norheim woman swallowed hard. Her fingers grasped hesitantly over the sheets, and she eased her calves down from his back. The gentle attentions upon her vulva slowly eased to a satisfying halt. A moment later and her wizard began to move, propping himself up on shaky arms. He drew his knees up underneath him and sat there between her legs for a moment, looking at his hands almost uncomprehendingly, dripping with her scent. She realized, dumbly, that he as going to have to clean his robes after this; a good chunk of its surface area had ended up thoroughly, well, drenched.

His nostrils flared slightly and then he looked up at her with a heavy-lidded and dazed expression. A blush extended from his cheeks out to the tip of each ear, and his lips were parted.

Branwen blinked slowly.

She recognized that expression.

It was _lust_.

Xat sat there, shaking, needy and suddenly desperate, cradled between the thighs of his lover; _her_ thighs. She propped herself up uncertainly. He stared up at her as if disoriented and terrified. She reached gently alongside his face to cup his cheeks and caress his ears.

A small shudder passed over him. Then he threw himself into her, kissing her mouth and clawing at the ties of his own robes. She catch him in both arms. As he loosened the ties, she helped pull off one of the sleeves, and then the other; then each sleeve of his undershirt and slip. Her calloused palms smeared adoringly down the length of his neck and chest the moment they first could, and he moaned hopefully into their kisses.

He shed everything. One of her hands settled hesitantly at his hip; the other lifted up to massage one of those flushed, pink ears.

"Bran," he rasped deeply, and a thrill ran over her skin at the full power of his _handsome_ voice.

Xan pressed lightly at her shoulders to try and get her to lay back. To his surprise, she resisted him, but the flick of her thumb down the length of his ear told him it wasn't because she _disliked_ the idea. He shifted in confusion for a moment, swallowing air against her neck. Then he pressed at her again, firmer this time.

Branwen made him push her down. She made him get up on his knees and overpower her slowly and gently, with kisses at her throat to weaken her defenses. It was the first time Xan noticed he _was_ actually as strong as her. He'd never conceived of that before: of the possibility that he could match her for _strength_. She was so much taller and rougher than him; but then he'd had the Moonblade to learn from for many more years than she'd been alive.

He pressed her down into the pillows. As he climbed on top of her, with her palms steadying his shoulders, he was shaking in fear, excitement, and need; but _all of it_ by his own choosing

...

* * *

[Author's Note]

Xan:  
**Strength** 13 **Dexterity** 16 **Constitution** 7 **Intelligence** 17 **Wisdom** 14 **Charisma** 16

Branwen:  
**Strength** 13 **Dexterity** 16 **Constitution** 15 **Intelligence** 9 **Wisdom** 16 **Charisma** 13


	18. Our Children

There is a part of me which thinks Gorion x Tallix really deserved their own stand-alone fic of a few chapters to explain this backstory; but I've decided to forgive myself and just present it as it comes up ;) This lengthy chapter for them came out expectedly, so it's just another nice long scene of them talking/reminiscing. In this case, we're getting a mix of them at present with backstory in italics.

...

* * *

_**Our Children**_

...

* * *

"So," Gorion began as their dinner cooked. He had broccoli and pork steaming away in one pot, and another filled with liquid cheddar. A glance told him that Tallix's eyes were fixed and the cooking food, and he knew then that he'd won the campfire argument quite soundly.

His halfling had a queer relationship with food. She couldn't cook, often skipped meals, and ate in seedy taverns and dive bars. It was the sort of lifestyle which sounded positively masochistic for anyone who shared her fondness for cheese.

"I know I have already asked how your children are," he continued, "but it seems all I've learned is that they are still quite alive."

Tallix blinked rapidly and looked up at him. Then she smirked. "Oh, ye want the long of it then? Well, fer starters: Anaxa's a right brat. Short-tempered, loud, sly, and reckless as the wind."

Gorion couldn't help but smile. "She has the hair for it." Tallix laughed. "Thinking back, I would have said she was a sweet girl," Gorion remembered.

"Bah. When they're three, they're _all_ sweet," Tallix replied. "It's when they're thirteen that things start getting hairy! Literally and metaphorically."

That drew a laugh from him. "Three was hardly the last time I saw her," he replied, but the prompt sent his memory back to that time shortly after he'd adopted Aegis.

...

* * *

_Gorion eased Anaxa Snapdragon's hood back, that he might better see her face. Her hair was a surfeit of bouncy, red curls. _

_The aasimar little doubt it would have been terrifying to stand alone in a rune circle, in a strange place, while being bombarded by magic. That was why he had elected to stay with Anaxa and entertain her with magic tricks, while Khelben footed the divination attempts._

_Now it seemed Khelben had the easier task; for the tiny tot had a curious and skeptical mind, and she was keenly distracted by such an odd environment. Still, it looked as if she associated Gorion with safety, and he wondered if this meant she trusted in whatever her mother had told her._

_"She has an animal on her," the archmagus realized abruptly. His eyes closed to slits as he made use of his abilities as Lord of the Tower. "Something small."_

_Ah? "Do you have a pet, Anaxa?" Gorion asked in her own language._

_"I has a Spot," she told him._

_"I see. And what does a Spot happen to look like-?" A small and very familiar looking creature bounded excitedly out of Anaxa's hair. __Gorion recoiled, eyes widening._

_The tiny sugar glider, who was pale white aside from a large black spot, sniffed at the air inquisitively a moment. Then he spun about and darted to the top of Anaxa's head. "Ee! Spot, not bein lunch time! Not bein lunch time, ha!" she told the animal, reaching up to her head with both hands. "Hey!"_

_Anaxa, as it turned out, shared her mother's incredibly thick Thari accent. It colored her Hin to the point that Gorion had some difficulty in understanding her, and it sounded absolutely ridiculous in such a tiny, high-pitched voice. Stunned as he was, it took Gorion a moment to tune back in to what she was saying:_

_"Hey, no poopy!" she laughed. "No poopy, or ye'll be stewin' in Big Trrrouble, Mister!" __He stared at her in mixed shock and dismay. Distantly,__ Gorion surmised that 'ye'll be stewin' in Big Trrrouble, Mister' was actually a single unit of vocabulary; she'd slurred it rather indistinctly. _

_The possum finally climbed into the girl's hands, and Anaxa pulled him down that she might pet his back. Then she held him out to Gorion and utterly misdiagnosed his distress. "He won't be bitin, he won't, he's good. Ye want to pet him? Ye can pet like this. But not the other way."_

_Gorion shuddered. Slowly, painfully, he reached down to pet the tiny glider._

_"That's the right way," Anaxa complimented him brightly._

_The aasimar nodded and swallowed hard. "W-where did you get Spot, Anaxa?"_

_"Mama gave from Calmshn," she slurred the word she did not know. She explained, very matter-of-factly: "They has lots o sand there, and the sun is bigger, so Spot and his mama was sick on-account-of everythin was too hot."_

_"I see," Gorion whispered._

_"And Mama taught me how ta take care o them, only I wasn't bein' very good at it and I fell on Spot's mama when I was playin. Montaron told me she got mad and flew away forever, so I has ta be Spot's new mama."_

_"I see," the wizard repeated._

_"Only I think she died," Anaxa concluded sadly after a moment, "So I tried rrreally hard ta be a good mama." She looked up at Gorion with wide eyes._

_Gorion was silent for a moment, staring back at her. Then he blinked rapidly, as if coming awake from a malaise. "You did a wonderful job," he promised her. "I-I know a thing or two about taking care of Spots, you know. Maybe I can teach you helpful things?"_

_Her face brightened: a little, freckled, green-eyed, red-haired oval of sunshine. "Yer a good wizard," she told him happily in her thickly accented Hin. "I like ye,"_  
...

* * *

"Has anyone in your family ever met the other children?" Gorion wondered of Tallix as he spooned cheese generously over pork and broccoli. His halfling watched him with utterly docile attention.

"Nae," she answered him slowly, "I'd stayed where I was fer so long, even after Anaxa was born... If I'd have gone home, I might not o' been able ta go through with leavin."

Gorion paused. "You didn't tell anyone you were going to Luiren?" He found that strange. "I know you mentioned having a big family. I thought you were very close to at least one of your sisters; the one with all the children?"

"Wynfein," Tallix enlightened him, watching cheese drip down broccoli she knew was meant for her. "Had seven brothers and seven sisters. Most of the boys have died, and about half the girls have, too. But I were only particularly close ta Wynfein, Hyaggar, and Paexia. Wynfein's the one who spat out twenty-two kids."

"Twenty... two...?" Gorion protested the number. "That's absolutely absurd."

"What's more absurd is they're all girls but fer the youngest. If Yondalla above had a title to award to the dame who could breed the longest unbroken streak of halfling family heirs, I think Wynfein Snapdragon might have been the reigning champion."

"I... I suppose with so many helping hands, she was certainly capable of getting by without you..."

"Yeah, well..." She chewed her lip for a brief moment, and it was clear that the topic of her extended family had been on her mind for awhile. "I-I asked me nephew. He says his mum's still doin' fine, last he seen her. Not... not all the girls made it through the Time of Troubles. Not by a long shot. Seen a lot o' death lately, that family has. _My_ family."

Gorion fell quiet. Then he leaned over and offered Tallix the bowl of food. She took it with all the reverence which ought to have been afforded to a holy artifact.

...

* * *

_Anaxa was almost anticlimactic. No demons, no transmutations, no geases, no mind control; Nothing was wrong with the little hinfolk girl whatsoever whatsoever. _

_Indeed, her most disconcerting attribute was nothing more insidious than those Moonsea green eyes. Which, to be fair, many people west of Anauroch found very eerie looking. But that was it. __Gorion had expected a religious or moral catastrophe; instead he found that he had become the temporary custodian of a very clever and surprisingly well-behaved toddler. _

_In fact, when Gorion carried Anaxa into his suite and situated her in a spare bedroom, she curled up almost immediately to sleep. __The poor thing must have been exhausted. Baffled, he pet her hair once and then retreated to his kitchen to think._

_..._

_Gorion woke Anaxa up a few hours after Aegis. He had the hin girl wash her hands and face, which she did without complaint, and then led her to the kitchen. He'd found a crate to place upon one of the chairs; and when he scooped her off the ground and settled her down upon it, he found that she was just high enough to operate the kitchen table. He gave her a bowl of porridge and fruit, and she thanked him politely and ate as if it were the best thing in the world._

_It was then that Gorion thought to wonder what Anaxa had been through over the next month. If his guess was right, Tallix had retreated to Moonsea to rescue the little girl from sort of trouble. And if Tallix had been avoiding pursuit on the road west, then he doubted Anaxa had slept under a real roof for quite some time. _

_When Anaxa finished eating, she had a very sleepy look on her face again. Gorion scooped her up out of the chair, and gave her a little bounce._

_"You should take a nap," he decided._

_"I has ta feed Spot." She rubbed her face and gave a small yawn._

_"I will feed him."_

_A few minutes later, seated beside Anaxa and feeding Spot bits of squash and chicken, Gorion thought of Chai. Of how much he missed her. Missed her; and knew with utter certainty that her noble sacrifice had saved him from damnation._

_Heartbroken, he went back to Aegis and cradled her close._

_..._

_By noon, Anaxa was ready for lunch. This time, it looked like she might be able to stay up for a few hours; but Gorion wasn't quite sure what to do with her. He went about his usual routine, bouncing his daughter and feeding her from a bottle. __Anaxa played with her horse doll for a bit. _

_"What's her name?" Anaxa asked, eventually._

_"Aegis." Gorion didn't offer to let her see the baby. He couldn't help feeling protective._

_"Oh." After a moment, Anaxa looked up at him. "Can I has paper?" she asked._

_Gorion blinked in surprise. "I... hold one moment."_

_He found Anaxar a stick of willow charcoal and a few leaves of paper. He knelt and offered the materials down to her. She was so incredibly tiny, and her face was precious and delighted as she took the charcoal._

_"Thank you!"_

_..._

_By dinner, Gorion had a thoroughly charcoal-covered toddler to clean up with warm soap and water. She gave him her scribbles. _

_"They're... they're very interesting," he told her. "I particularly like this one." He selected a scribble essentially at random. Anaxa beamed. Gorion found he liked making her smile._

_..._

* * *

_"This is a nice bed," Anaxa informed him as Gorion entered the bedroom with an old fruit crate and a chair. He settled the crate on the ground, and placed the chair beside it. There: she ought to be able to reach the bed on her own._

_"Is it now?" Gorion held Anaxa's hand to make sure she didn't fall as she climbed her makeshift stairs and clambered onto the quilts. _

_"Yes. It's big. And soft," she explained._

_"__What is your home like?__" he asked softly._

_"Everyone has to share and be nice ta eachother," Anaxa educated him, "Cause the house is big but there's too many people! Me auntie's kids, and their kids, and some o me other auntie's or uncle's kids... And the beds are small and they poke! And-and- it's always loud, and there's lots of singing and hollarin'." She looked at him, and suddenly seemed a little spooked. "I like home; here's too quiet," she told him in a small voice. _

_He tilted his head to the side and reached forward to gently push red hair from her face. "__You'll get used to the quiet__," he smiled reassuringly. "__It's not so bad__."_

_"Maybe. That's true," she thought, and the crinkle of her forehead suggested something sad or upsetting had come to her mind. So much went on beyond those green eyes; so much was _born_ with every moment. She looked back up at him. "Will mama be okay?"_

_"I... I am sure she will be okay, Anaxa. Your mama is hard to catch and hard to beat. Don't worry about her; she will be back to get you before you know it."_

_Anaxa shifted uncomfortably. __"Can I has a story?" the child requested, abruptly._

_Gorion lifted his head, thinking. "I'm afraid I don't have any books which might interest you."_

_Anaxa frowned at her blankets. "Montaron always had stories..."_

_The aasimar looked back at her. Then he smiled, and settled down on the bed beside her. "Alright. Perhaps I know a good story or two. Let's see..."_

...

* * *

Gorion was only two bites into his own broccoli when a memory struck him.

The aasimar frowned, straightened, and then peered over his traveling companion for a long moment. She was making no secret of how much she liked her food. "Tallix," he uttered in a wary voice. "You said to me that you met a relative who was in trouble, and that you helped him down to Amn. That was your nephew, the one with all the older sisters?"

"Aye," the old assassin agreed with a slurp of cheese. "Baby of the family. He's my favorite, though don't ye ever tell anyone! He were the one who got word ta me that men had come lookin fer Anaxa, way back when. Risked his life sneakin her out of Zhentil Keep without me even needin ta ask, bless his black little heart. And then the Little Wanker even had the spunk ta ransom her to me! Right after his auntie's own heart, he were; did me proud-"

"His name, Tallix," Gorion insisted. "What was his _name_?"

"...Montaron. Why?"

Gorion stared at her for a long, long moment. "Would this by any chance happen to be the _same_ Montaron that my daughter's party frequently makes reference to; who was once in a sexual relationship with Imoen Winthrop and whom, I have gathered, attempted to murder my child in her sleep for money?"

Tallix was quiet for a moment. "Eh. Small world, huh?"

"He tried to kill my daughter, Tallix."

"You go stuff that glare back in where it came from, lad," was the assassin's answer. "What would ye have had me do Rion: shank me own nephew?"

The wizard's stare did not falter.

"Ye bitter old stork," she reproached him, "I was there the day the lad was _born. _Took me forever ta notice his wee pecker too, and then I just about dropped him, shoutin 'It's a boy!'" She waggled an arm in the air, in mimicry of the event's excitement.

The wizard's stare did falter somewhat; nevertheless, it continued.

Tallix snorted, leaned her elbows on her knees, and looked back down at her food. "I could I tell he regretted it. As well as he could regret anything anymore. The last few years weren't kind ta Moonsea. And I walked out on our family right before things got bad. "

Gorion lowered his eyes. Then he sighed and leaned back to consider things. "You saved your own children," he reminded her quietly. "Montaron was with the Zhentarim, then, the same as Xzar?"

"He was very specifically a Zhent Assassin. Wonder who I've got ta blame fer _that_ one, eh?" She raised a brow at him, looking unimpressed with herself. "Well whoever it was, with that sort of role model it's honestly a wonder he's turned out as good as he has."

"Imoen mentioned seeing Montaron recently. That he had warned her about Xzar?"

"Aye, bet on that one," Tallix agreed. "Took Monty through Beregost on the way south; and, sure enough, he snuck on out ta drop her that huge ass tip on that necromancer ye hate so much." She shifted. "He even mentioned I were a Chosen, which impressed me; I ain't told almost anyone."

The aasimar was still a little sour. "How old is your nephew?" he asked after a moment.

"Nae that it's any o' yer business who Imoen Winthrop picks ta boff," the halfling smirked, "but I've got more years on _ye_ than he has on her."

The wizard narrowed his eyes and growled an extraordinarily displeased: "Tallix."

"Ri: That girl's beautiful, clever, and sweet as pudding. And I know who her da is, so I _know_ she can cook. I am way more pissed at him fer goin chicken shit and knowingly givin up an ass that fine than I will ever be pissed at him for _her_ poor taste in men." She leaned back smugly to the old wizard's glare. "And ye can tell old Griswold Winthrop I said so, cause I know I can still dodge his bolts nae matter how old I get!"

"Well you're telling it to _me_ now. In what possible way is trying to kill my daughter synonymous with 'going chicken shit'?" Gorion snapped.

Tallix shrugged, and gave a quick, sad smirk. "Ah, see, yer lookin at it wrong. He didn't try ta kill _yer daughter_, he tried ta kill _his girlfriend's sister_. That's completely different and much worse! I gave him one hell of an earful o'er it, I'll have ye know."

The aasimar glared. She chuckled mirthlessly.

"Lemme ask ye a rhetorical question Ri: How does an idiot assassin break things off with a reckless good girl; one whom he likes somethin awful, and whom he knows he doesn't deserve; all cause he can't handle feeling sure she's gonna end up dyin' on him? Suppose he might try ta pull back ta arm's length like it were nothing personal, and convince her he's bad news, eh?"

Gorion wasn't sure what to say. It wasn't as if sentimentalism ought to _excuse_ attempted murder; but, then, Gorion was breaking bread with a significantly worse assassin. Wordlessly, the old monk shook his head. A woman with countless sins and yet a startling number of redeeming qualities; that was Tallix Snapdragon. "Old hag," he began at last.

"Aye?"

"Would you mind not _withholding _relevant information from me in the future?"

She was quiet a moment, before nodding. "I'll try. I'm nae accustomed ta sharin all me thoughts with someone. Ye'll be patient with me?"

Tallix was uncannily hard to stay angry with. Perhaps, in an odd way, it was precisely because her temperament was so unpolished when held up against the rest of her.

...

* * *

_The days had rolled into weeks._

_Gorion stepped out of Aegis' room and blinked. By the looks of things, Anaxa couldn't sleep, as the teeny, tiny hin child was waiting for him just outside the door. She had a puzzled frown crinkling her brow, and her eyes looked puffy and tired. "Hello, littlest lady," Gorion greeted, kneeling before her. He had to crane over to see her face clearly, even after kneeling. "Whatever's the matter?"_

_"Nae sleepy," she told him in that ludicrous accent, rubbing at her face._

_"I see, I see." He scooped her off the ground by the armpits and seated her tush snugly in the crook of his arm. She was lighter than Aegis, who had grown into a fat and happy baby since her departure from the Shadow Temple. "That sounds _dreadful_."_

_"Yah," the child mumbled in a forlorn way._

_He chuckled. "How about some nice, warm, milk, then?"_

_Her face brightened. "Okay!" He smiled and carried her into the kitchen, settling her on the countertop as he went to obtain a flask of goat's milk._

_A polite cough rose up from behind him. Gorion stiffened, A moment later, his fears were confirmed by Anaxa's estatic call of: "Mama!"_

_Fruits and other pantry groceries ended up all over the place as Gorion spun about, a wand already out in his hand and the final syllable of the trigger phrase on the tip of his tongue. Tallix Snapdragon, who was absolutely behind him, lifted her palms out to show she was not hostile. His eyes widened._

_"How!?" he spat in panicked disbelief. "This tower is impregnable! Khelben would know you were here!"_

_"Now, lad, yer really askin two questions there," the assassin pointed out. "In answer ta the first: no one ever knows I'm anywhere. And as fer how I got in, well, a magician never reveals her secrets; but I bet ole Blackstaff could come up with an idea or two fer stoppin me as soon as he rolled the problem around in his head for a bit."_

_"Why would you come here!?" the wizard demanded, because the sight of her had spooked him. Aegis was only a room away! "Get _out_!"_

_"Sure thing, Feathers. Just, eh, may I have me wee lass back while I'm at it?"_

_Gorion fell awkwardly quiet. A moment passed in silence between them, in which he stared down at a green-eyed assassin and she peered warily back up at him. She looked tired, and disheveled. Slowly, puzzled, he eased his weight back onto his heels. He thought of a thousand things; mismatched details, conversations, accusations, reactions. A thousand things and nothing, because a calm had settled in his chest._

_Another moment passed in silence. Then he reached over and pulled out a chair from under the kitchen table and instructed firmly: __"Sit."_

_To say that Tallix looked startled would have been an understatement. She stared wide-eyed at him for a brief moment, and took a step to the side. "What?"_

_His eyes narrowed. "Sit." Then he turned away from her, picked up the milk, and went to heat Anaxa her drink._

_..._

* * *

_Only when Anaxa was sippling on warm cream with honey did Gorion turned back to see if Tallix was even still in the room. She was. She'd seated herself down, just as he'd asked her to. Of course she was a halfling, so her legs did not reach the ground and the table was somewhat high. She looked somehow less threatening like that. _

_Gorion eyed her suspiciously. Then, after a moment of deliberation, he poured her a mug of cream, stirred in some honey, settled it on the kitchen table, and slid it across to her. _

_Tallix looked down at the mug. Then she looked back up at him. "If I knew tha' throwin babies at ye was the key ta gettin ya ta talk ta me, I'da brought ten or twelve o' em."_

_"She was one," Gorion concluded._

_Tallix eyed him uncertainly. "Anaxa?"_

_"She was an infant when my son was born. When I... when I killed him, thinking blindly that his soul would be safer with Mystra. You must have given birth a few scant __few months before I first met you."_

_Tallix shifted. "Aye," she said slowly. "About four months before."_

_"You mentioned Anaxa was something of a surprise," the wizard prodded._

_The halfling studied him a moment, baffled. "__By the time I admitted I was pregnant, 'twere only cause the wee girl were already kickin me." Gorion stared at her expectantly. She tilted her head to the side. "And, eh... That right pissed me off; but I figured it 'tweren't her fault how careless I'd been, so I kept her. I hid her with a glamoring wand, so no one would sense a chink in my armor. And I p__lanned me last jobs right so I had plenty of time ta get home ta Moonsea fer a surprise delivery. Dinnae even warn my siblings. Was sorta in denial, I guess."_

_"I presume everything went off without a hitch, you left her with your favorite sister, and Lullorin's death followed soon after?" he asked._

_The old halfling's brow crinkled; she was understandably bewildered by this line of questioning._ He_ was bewildered to find himself talking to her at all._

_After a moment, however, Tallix straightened up and answered him thusly: "__I didn't make it back ta Moonsea, lad. Anaxa came weeks early and I were travelin alone. The weather was hell, and I realized I wasn't gonna make it ta shelter no matter how hard my horse ran. I ended up staggerin' off the side of the road and crawlin' into a hollowed log. I could _barely _walk; that's how bad the pain was._

_"Now I've midwifed babes. Enough ta know how often things go wrong. Enough ta appreciate tha' my mum and sisters gave birth in warm beds surrounded by dozens of helpin hands. Enough to realize how bad I had it, bein alone." She trailed off and wrinkled her nose. "I'm in my eighties, Gorion; and aging is scary enough without trying ta stuff a watermellon through the neck of a wine bottle. I had no idea if Anaxa would try ta come breach, or even if she was formed, or even if my body knew what the fuck ta do at this age."_

_Gorion hesitated. He was well-read enough to know that childbirth was one of the most dangerous occupations with which a non-adventuring woman might occupy herself. It was not uncommon to hear even of noblewomen dying in childbirth, or shortly afterward._

_"I remember bein so fuckin angry I'd ended up there," Tallix continued, resting her forearms comfortably upon the table. "I cursed at meself, at her, at the gods of lust, at Tymora, at Anaxa's cute red-headed da, at everythin'. It... it hurt, lad. Like, bad. __When my sis gave birth to her first kids, I remember thinkin' how much of a pussy she was, what with how she bawled. Well _I _bawled. __There weren't a day o' me life ta match how vulnerable I felt right then, or how frightened. I wanted Anaxa... gone. Just- just_ gone_, somehow._

_And I even felt stupid I hadn't..." she hesitated in saying the words, even if Anaxa could not speak Thorasta,"... just taken a draught ta miscarry back when it were safe. __B-but I'd done as I'd done, and she... she had ta get out, cause that were the only way. So I tried ta focus on how ta push. A-and then there was blood. A lot of blood. _

_"Fer hours, it hurt. Fer hours and hours and hours, I bled and it hurt, and there was nothin I coulda done ta save meself if she'd failed ta come. She coulda stayed stuck, died, and gone gangrene inside me, and the poison woulda come up from within and there'd o' been nothing I coulda done. I coulda just done hemorrhaged ta death. I thought about everythin that could go wrong, and my head went in painful circles over and over and over. _

_"But she came. She came in the wee hours of the mornin. Her head first, and her shoulders, and then the rest o' her all in one shove. I were exhausted, and dazed, and dizzy from bloodloss. But she were a fighter, and she spat up vernix all on her own, and she _cried_, and she cried and she cried, until the sound roused me and I crawled myself around ta see her._

_"I picked her up for the first time, all ugly and covered in slime; and I couldn't even really see her but with darkvision. I saw that she had both eyes, and a nose and a mouth and ears; I saw she was whole, and that her hands and feet weren't clubbed, and her spine weren't pocketed with holes. I saw that she were the proper weight and everythin. __She had all her little toes, and they were fuckin tiny._

_"And I remember huggin her ta me, knowing I was holdin the best and most important damn thing in the whole world. That I'd done everything right. That I'd never done anything as important or meaningful as bring her into tha' world." __Tallix stopped talking then, as if she wasn't certain where to go. Then she leaned back in her chair, thinking. "I felt like, I dunno... A real hin woman. Fer the first time."_

_Gorion continued to stare at her for a moment. Then he looked slowly over at where Anaxa was watching them. _

_"I'm nae sure if ye remember," the old assassin hesitated. "The first thing ye did upon pickin' Aegis up was ta check all her limbs. The second thing ye did was ye _smelled_ her. Do ye remember that?"_

_The wizard's gaze darted rapidly back to Tallix._

_"I noticed it," she explained, "because fer some odd reason or another that's exactly what I did ta Anaxa right after meetin her fer the first time: I took a good, long whiff o' her. I don't know why. It just sort o' made sense at tha' time. Enough that, three years later, I saw ye'd fallin in love with that little bundle o' smoked bones and yellow curls the moment ye'd picked her up."_

_..._

* * *

_Gorion frowned. Tallix watched him and shifted in a discomfort that seemed almost comical coming from such a dangerous person. After a lengthy pause, she scooped up her mug of cream, inspected it, and then took a sip. _

_The wizard shook his head. "You would have me believe that you helped me out of empathy?" he asked. "You watched me kill my own son not ten minutes earlier."_

_"I watched ye fail," she told him bluntly, startling the wizard. "I watched ya fail yer children, yer faith, yer friends, yer order; everything ye had ever wanted to do right by. That weren't the surprising part, mind ye; ye had a god after ye, and ye had no idea how badly he'd been able to bend the rules."_

_"And what was the surprising part, old hag?" he whispered, bitter._

_"Ye got up again," Tallix reminded him. "I dunno what gave ye the faith ye must have needed ta listen ta Chai, or what lead you through tha' temple. But somehow, down there at the bottom of everything, ye must have figured out yer colors better'n he did. The difference weren't big, I see; just a shade off; but the outcome might as well o' been night and day."_

_That set him off balance. Gorion shook his head, not understanding; he took an unsteady step backwards. "What does that mean?"_

_"What he offered and what ye actually took both involved rearin Bhaalspawn, granted. But he wanted to make ye a ringmaster of his circus of devils. What ye picked was ta be one kid's hero." She paused. "Somethin I dunno how ta even do, and nae for lack of trying."_

_Her words shook him; though he tried not to let it show. "That presumes," Gorion countered in an emotional rush, "that he did not plan for me to take her."_

_"Nae, look at his objectives, lad," Tallix counseled, leaning forward on her elbows and tapping the table. "He had ye at his mercy, made ye one hell of an offer, and dropped a lot of private information to do it. Giving up that advantage would be unnecessarily complicated. Unless the whole point of all these bastard children was specifically to fuck with you, and only you. Dinnae be daft."_

_Information? Gorion frowned and shook his head almost imperceptibly. "Why are you helping me?" he asked plainly, quietly._

_"Well... Because yer my friend, Ri, and I owe ye fer lettin ye down on ten or twenty counts."_

_"__Your 'friend'?" he whispered._

_"__Ye helped keep Anaxa safe for me, dinnae ye?"_

_"__ She is an innocent child, and you have been- allegedly- acting on my behalf for almost a year without explanation. And you've asked for nothing else. Demanded nothing. Extorted nothing."_

_"Aye, and yet ye still helped me is the funny part. Proves I have good taste in friends, then, don't it?"_

_"By all the denizens in hell, Tallix Snapdragon; why do you refuse to make even the smallest iota of sense?"_

_"Take that back; I'm very sensible." She finished her cream and inspected the cup with brows raised. "I think I need ta drop in on ye more often; most people outside of family don't take the courtesy o' feedin and waterin me when they know I'm stalkin them or breakin into their homes."_

_The wizard made a soft, incoherent exclamation of frustration at her. Tallix looked back up at him and grinned. "I should go," she decided. "Afore I'm noticed by the old magus upstairs, and promptly spelled into a gaol."_

_He could easily have called out to Khelben. They both waited to see if he would. Much to Gorion's own surprise, he didn't. And when it became clear he wouldn't, Tallix rose and went over to where her daughter was sitting._

_"Come on ye little anklebiter," she called to Anaxa in Hin. "Yer gonna be stickin close ta mama fer the next few months at least. Hopefully longer. Think ye can handle being sneaky?"_

_The girl's face turned from crinkled and distressed to bright and lively. She smiled and slid off the counter into her mother's arms. "Can I get me stuff?" she asked her mother, who nodded and set her on the ground. _

_"Hurry up, kiddo. And don't take nothin that ain't belong ta ye."_

_Anaxa hurried off. The kitchen was silent in her wake. Awkwardly silent. _

_"You dealt with what you had to, then?" Gorion asked._

_"Aye," Tallix answered tiredly. "I think so. Still ain't headin home any time soon, just ta be safe."_

_"Will you remain in Waterdeep, then?"_

_She glanced at him. "I've got her with me now. Gotta think o' that. Will ye rat me out?"_

_Gorion frowned, trying to determined what she meant. Then he realized Anaxa might not be shielded from scrying. "Khelben knows you are her mother," he answered after a moment. "He may do his own prying."_

_The halfling smiled a little, surprised at his candidness. "Thank ye. Though I bought some bright, long-lastin, white wood paint; should work fine until I can splurge on a more portable measure."_

_He blinked. "What?"_

_"White paint. Bright white paint, outta Amn. Ya know what pigment they use ta color that sorta paint?" Tallix asked. His brows furrowed. "They use white lead, Ri." She smiled. "Turns out it works just as good at stopping scrying as black lead. Or a pounded sheet of black lead, for that matter." _

_His lips parted. _

_She winked. "I'm an old hat at dodgin eyes, lad__. Ye think I'd be who I was, if I weren't good at what I did?"_

_Anaxa returned then, dressed up in her proper clothing and with her dolly under arm. She bypassed Tallix for a moment, however, and hurried up to Gorion. He blinked, startled, and then knelt down to see what it was she wanted._

_"Goodbye fer now pretty wizard," Anaxa Snapdragon told him fondly, and she gave him one of the world's smallest and most adorable hugs. "Spot says goodbye, too."_

_..._

* * *

"I never did get around to asking what possessed you to buy her a sugar glider," Gorion recalled, calmer now. "I presume it must have had something to do with me, even indirectly."

Tallix thought back, slurping up cheese and broccoli. "That was the same time as that face-changer assassin were after yer druid, right? Ye know, I think I paid a boy ta spook Jaheira with em, ta get her and Khalid outta Calimshan once I'd noticed him. Figured if I got lucky with it, she'd lead me ta ye. And then I was stuck with the little things and felt right bad about leavin em ta die..."

Gorion looked at her incredulously. Then he laughed a little. "What? How in the hells did you manage to come up with a plan that intricate, much less remember it almost two decades later?"

"Lad, I remember _everythin_. Except, apparently, the location of shaving razors," she grumbled. "Also, I had to go north and then all the way out to Moonsea without smokin, cause the little bats stared up at me all mournfully. Ye realize how much of a trial that was? I nearly died."

"Ah yes; these are the sorts of days you leave me to presume your life revolves around pipeweed." It wasn't the first time he'd seen that Tallix had a sharp mind for connecting distant patterns, he was starting to appreciate.

"Well why shouldn't it?" she sniffed and then chastised him: "Food, pipeweed, a warm hearth; we hinfolk are_ simple people_, Ri."

"Of course you are," he said to the singularly most complicated person he had ever met. "What about your other children?"

"Mm. Calderan, me lad, will be thirteen this year. Brown hair, blue eyes. Hasn't his puberty yet, though I reckon he'll be tall."

"Thirteen? Well _you_ certainly didn't waste any time," he remarked in amusement.

"Eh..." she looked surprisingly evasive. He tilted his head to the side.

"And what is he like? Like you? Like his older sister?"

"Oh nae, not at all. I'm sure he's set ta become some world famous adventurer or something." Tallix smiled. "He likes to read and play knights and dragons against the tree in the back yard. I can't tell which side he's on, but it looks dreadfully heroic all the same."

That drew a laugh out of Gorion. "A son of yours is going to be a knight?" he asked, delighted. "I can hardly believe that!"

"You and me both, lad, you and me both," she grinned.

"_Are_ there halfling knights?"

"I don't know. Heavens protect the knighthoods if old mama Tallix has ta come give em an earful on why they ought ta squire her baby boy."

He had a good, hard laugh at that.

"And let's see, the youngest, Paewyn; named her after me sisters. She's eleven. She's the only one who really looks like her mum. Same hair, same eyes; only she's a bit prettier, I think. She's a little bookish too, I reckon; though it's hard to say how she'll turn out when she's older. And she's bright. Ah, lad, all three of em are _bright_. Does me heart good."

"It's inherited," he remarked. Tallix waved a hand dismissively at him. "It _is_."

_..._

* * *

_The hour was noon, and some warmth had snuck in early through the tail end of winter. The day was nice; nice enough to take thinly veiled excuses to get outside._

_Gorion had grown up most of his childhood in Tethyr; and, even during his apprenticeship, he had never been much for staying inside. How long had it been since he'd taken Aegis out into the world? Jaheira was right; he couldn't keep her locked up in a tower forever. He needed to find some place to raise her; some place safer than Waterdeep and bigger than Blackstaff tower. _

_He found his way to the gardens, where a few hardy youths had elected to picnic, and others were stretching their legs. _

_"It's good ta see ye gettin' some fresh air," the Voice of Tallix mused wryly. _

_Gorion looked up, expectantly, to see a completely unobserved halfling crouched in the tree boughs almost directly over his head. _

_She blew a smoke ring. __"Though ye might consider yer lass could use some sunlight, too."_

_He raised a brow. "With _you_ here?" he asked. "In this open place, where anything could happen? __Come down here before you cause a scene."_

_The hin woman scoffed at him. "Ye'll smother her, lad. How's she doin by the way? Progressin well fer a tyke?"_

_"I'm not telling you," he retorted._

_"Otch, that's hurts."_

_He sighed. __"Come down here, old hag, or I won't give you any lunch."_

_Lunch. __Lunch? Lunch... Lunch... lunch... lunch... __The word echoed across Tallix Snapdragon's increasingly baffled face for several iterations. She startled then, as if confused. A moment passed before she moved; and then she lid down from the tree._

_Seeing as he'd gotten her attention, Gorion walked over and settled down upon one of the stone garden walls. Tallix hurried up to him, as silent at the wind, leaning over slightly with a bewildered and curious expression upon her face. The wizard eased off his carrying satchel and extracted two, brown-wrapped, paper packages. He settled one in his lap, and offered the other down to her._

_Tallix looked from the package, to him, and then back again. Then he took the item from him with a slow and bewildered reverence._

_Gorion raised a brow. "Is something the matter?"_

_She was quiet for a long moment before explaining: "I cannae decide if I want to eat it... or frame it."  
_

_The aasimar was silent for a moment. Then he decided not to open his own lunch first, and instead gestured that she should sit. Tallix hesitated only a moment before effortlessly climbing up to perch on the wall beside him. He waited._

_Tallix eyed him uncertainly for a moment before settling to investigating the gift. She neatly untucked the waxed paper, folding it aside. __Within was a neatly cropped, quailmeat sandwich, with everything from tomatoes, to chese, to olives and beansprouts all packed into it. The meal was accompanied by a little tub of fresh yogurt and sliced fruit, two macadamian nut cookies, and a sealed and magically heated little tub of pea soup._

_Silence reigned for a moment._

_"I think I might tear up a little," Tallix confessed with a sniffle. "Where the devil did ye learn ta cook?"_

_"I can't cook," The wizard informed her. "Winthrop can cook. _I_ can follow explicit instructions in food assembly"_

_"Whatever it is, it's beautiful!" she chastised him as if he had tried to depreciate the value of the food. She took up the sandwich in her hands and marveled at it. "What do I owe ye fer this?"_

_"A conversation," Gorion told her. _

_"It's yers," she promised him, taking a huge bite. "Ye gods, it's smoked gouda. What do ye want ta know?!"_

_"Perhaps you should finish eating first," he decided, unwrapping his own lunch. He hardly knew what to feel about her enthusiasm. He had come out to picnic with an assassin; something he absolutely ought not to have been doing. Nervous jitters were in his stomach and his fingers; like the adrenaline of a person who feared being caught._

_And Tallix, bizarre Tallix, was sitting beside him as if it were the most natural thing in the world. __He wasn't going to be able to eat much. He suspected, however, that present company would be happy to ensure a lack of leftovers._

...

* * *

_"I wanted you to elaborate on something you said at the tower," Gorion explained when Tallix looked to have calmed down a bit. "About... about objectives and information. What information were you referring to?"_

_Tallix lifted up her thumb as she chewed, and then swallowed. "Well fer starters, he mentioned Amelyssan the Blackhearted. Now that's not a small name ta let a Harper walk away with. From what I've seen, she's one of the most powerful priestesses in all the underbelly of the world."_

_She held up a second finger, and lowered her food for the moment, "Next, he gave ye a ballpark estimate of how many kids he has left: two thousand. That's a lot of... what... rivals for yer kid? Potential threats? It's information ye dinnae have before, either way."_

_Gorion furrowed his brows at the hin woman as she laid this breakdown strategically out before him._

_"Three: He finally shed some light on why he let the Harpers raid his temples. He mentioned binding up spawn essence in knives for other children to find. So was he having you recycle failed experiments? Cull them? Were they just acceptable losses? It seemed to me we found a lot of kids with really, really bad taint. Maybe feeding kids to one another didn't have the outcome he'd hoped for?_

_"Four: he said he willin' ta let ye liberate the souls of kids with negligible taint, which means he doesn't favor or fear them and that he considers them to be an acceptable loss._

_"Five: He said he intended that ye raise a number of the orphaned spawn. Looks like he's favoring middle-ground Bhaalspawn with high survival odds, and he's bottling up taint fer em ta find later on in life?_

_"But the odd thing is, he slipped at the beginning that he distrusts his own high priestess. That's weird. He's acting like he's setting up pieces for a game he won't be around ta supervise, and he's not sure she'll dance to his tune once he's gone." Gorion perked up. "I ain't need ta be some fancy wizard to recognize a contingency when I see one."_

_Gorion said nothing. He tried not to show his surprise. Did Tallix truly not know her god was prophesied to die?_

_"That brings us ta his objectives. I know ye've been wonderin whether he meant ya ta have Aegis. The way it looks ta me, there's only three possibilities ta consider: One, the deal was his intention and ye threw him fer a loop; Two: The deal was a red herring and he meant fer ye ta have Aegis; Or three: he knew every angle of the gambit and both ways would have worked for him._

_"The second doesn't make sense: Droppin all that info, just fer ye ta ignore it entirely and rear Aegis, sounds stupid._

_"The third one though, the duel-gambit, that could be his style. And it's a good base case, cause if ye consider its implications, it looks like y'lle pretty much cover any holes ye might have left elsewhere in yer reasoning._

_It could explain why he dropped all that information when he did: Maybe he figured it would be useful stuff for ya ta know if he wanted Aegis ta reach adulthood safely. 'Watch out fer them other children and an evil priestess. Good luck.' _

_"I still don't buy it though." She shook her head quickly. "Near as I can tell, his setup didn't match the outcome. He put fear too much effort into that, and yer holy invaders were actually supposed to miss a whole fourth of that temple. He had other plans for Aegis. Maybe ta replace whatever he'd been experimentin' on the Slayer's first kid- yer poor boy- for._

_"Yeah, there's a small chance he engineered everythin, I agree. But usually a sociopath does manipulation like a grandmaster plays chess; and his moves are measured and almost elegant_._ Instead, in this situation, everything was muddled and vague and unpolished... Ye see what I'm saying? It was too messy. _

_"Aside from which, it is my personal belief that bastard doesn't ken empathy a whit. He ain't anywhere near as good at predicting moves into the future on that topic as he thinks he is. But that's just my feel, and I know ye've no good reason ta take me word on it, so we won't base any calculations on it. __ Still, the way it looked to me, you outplayed him. In fact, you sidestepped him entirely._

_"But either way, whether he planned it or not, I dinnae see too big a difference in what ye have to do ta move onward, because he'll adapt.__ If he can__ use yer daughter ta his own ends, he will. Plan or no plan. _

_"Ye got a long fight ahead o' ye, Ri. Ye best go into it with both eyes open. Knowin all that__, there's one big thing I think ye ought ta be concerned about. She's the Slayer's daughter, is she not-?"_

_Gorion had heard sentences of that nature one too many times already. "She is my daughter. If you think I would abandon her because of your suppositions-!" the aasimar whirled on her._

_"Ho, calm yer tits, lad! Did I say anything at all like that?" she reproached him sternly. Gorion flinched slightly. Tallix eyeballed him a moment, bemused. Then she gave a shrug. __"Look lad: Yer mind's already set. Ye know exactly what ye want ta accomplish, and no one is gonna deter ye nae matter what they say. If ye knew fer dead certain that Bhaal meant for ye ta have her, and if he honestly believed she would never be strong enough ta resist his purposes, ye'd _still_ give him a run fer his money at this point, wouldn't ye?"_

_That was true, Gorion supposed, a sudden quiet settling in the depths of his belly. It was completely true; he would find a way to save his daughter, no matter how improbable it was. "I would," he admitted. "I have to." He looked at his lap. "No one will save her if I turn away. No one else even thinks she can be saved; just me. They do not even think she can be taught to _speak_. And I understand why; I saw what her brother was like at merely three: an appendage of Death and little more."_

_"Forget what 'they' think. They're all worrying about orphans, angels, light gods, divine politics, and levels of taint; and ye went and picked up a child who drank blood and had bone daggers fer fingers, and said 'this is cute, I think I shall take this home with me.' Yer already on such a different level of difficult problem solving, that they cannae have anything meaningful ta say ta ye out of personal experience. _

_"This were what I was tryin ta say: Ye'll need ta get deep in her head. And ye'll only have so many years while she's pliable ta learn how she works, and ta teach her what it means ta be human. But those years are where ye can fight him at; because ye can have her all ta yerself, and yer completely in charge of everything that goes into that little head o' hers._

_"Meanwhile, though, the closer ye get ta succeeding, and the stronger and more independent Aegis becomes; I'll bet ye the more and more she'll be uniquely suited to his purposes_ _*if* you fail in the long run_._ It's all or nothing: ye'll either end up right, or ye'll end up helping him, a lot. It's her soul against the machinations of a god; and I can see why the Chosens would be a little reluctant ta let ye make that gamble._

_"__If I were you, I'd look long and hard on what little ya might know o' her blood father, and try ta puzzle out how ye'd teach _that_ ta behave itself. _

_"And no matter how 'normal' ye may want ta raise her, I'm guessin ye better teach her ta fight one day. Cause, last I checked, Bhaal's kids are already racking up a habit of being sacrificed to one another. And I can't imagine it's gonna get much better as they get bigger. I get the sensation there are gonna be many years of Aegis' life she just won't be able ta live quietly."_

_The wizard was quiet a long moment, watching his lap. He looked pained. After a moment, he asked her a question he could have never posed to Khelben, because it would have endangered his daughter: "What if I'm wrong, and do it anyway?" he whispered._

_Tallix tilted her head to the side. "What if yer right, and don't?" He looked at her. "Adapt. The world has very few absolutes."_

...

* * *

Gorion had retired for the evening. Tallix Snapdragon waited, to make sure the wizard had plenty of time to study his spells. The aasimar was using one of his older spellbooks now, an itemÂ Elminster had fetched from Candlekeep on his behalf.

The Chosen of Mystra had no doubt only meant for Gorion to use it for clandestine scrying and hobbyist spellcrafting. She imagined he'd get the surprise upon learning that not only was Gorion missing, but that the monk had thrown up some kind of _Mindblank_.

Tallix finished her dinner slowly, enjoying each and every last forkful of cheese-covered meat and broccoli. Afterwards, she cleaned and sharpened each and every one of her knives. It was a lengthy job; she had a lot of knives, and she practice tossing each of them. She didn't stop in her work, even as Gorion finally extinguished his reading light in the tent behind her.

When at last she rose, dusted off her breeches, and kicked over the fire, he'd had more than enough time to fall asleep. She approached the tent then,and quietly eased the flap aside.

Icy eyes flicked up to her immediately. Patiently.

Tallix winced. For a moment, she considered turning away and putzing around outside for another hour, even if just to spite the aasimar. Then she remembered that she had gotten too old for such silly antics, and she had a date in the Underdark on the morrow. With a defeated sigh, she crept into the cramped tent and settled down on her palette that she might pull off her tabi.

The wizard considered her for a long moment. Then he rolled partially onto his back and looked up at nothing. "I have to confess that this is new. I am accustomed to you being an intolerably raunchy little monster who enjoyed flaunting her sexuality to terrify young people. You will have to pardon my asking: When, exactly, did you become _self-__conscious?_"

Tallix paused with one foot in hand. "Self-_conscious_?" she asked. "Ye've got the wrong halfling! I'm a natural beauty and exude charisma from every pore; I've nothing whatsoever ta be conscious about"

He didn't look at her. "Of course. Then I confess curiousity: did you finally marry after retiring to Luiren?"

"Pffa!" She cackled in answer, taking off the boot and setting it beside it's partner. "I don't think I'm the kind o girl boys ought ta take home," she drawled teasingly.

"Then why are you avoiding _me_?" he wondered, confused.

"_Princess_," she leveled with him, picking up her blankets to slip her feet under them. "ye really shouldn't just put out for any ole ugly ruffian on the spot, just cause he springs ye from the highest room o' the tallest tower like a dashin' _Prince Charming_. Should wait a few weeks ta make sure yer not, ya know, suffering from any _nameable_ syndromes..."

He looked at her with a scowl. "Tallix Snapdragon, hand over your feet this instant."

The halfling stiffened as verbally offended. The aforementioned feet withdrew defensively close to her. "Now that's just vulgar, lad...!" she reproached him in a low voice.

"Give me your feet," the wizard insisted.

"Ye cannae say tha' to hinfolk!" she chastised him. "Were ye raise in a barn!?"

The wizard rolled towards her swiftly and Tallix bit down hard on a violent rush of _instinct, move, evade, draw, pin, stab-! _Gorion caught her leg by the ankle and tugged sharply, spinning her towards him. Her fingers closed reflexively against the palette, and her teeth clenched tightly. "Ri," she croaked.

"Yes?" he responded, tugging firmly to scoot her a few inches closer to him as he rolled onto his back again. Tallix glared at him past heavy lashes. He seemed to appraise the foot he had captured between both slender hands. Then his thumbs roved like feathers over the sole, finding old scars and tracing them. Heat rose up in her cheeks.

"Ri." Then she felt him kneed firmly into her toes and the balls of her feet, and her back arched almost involuntarily.

"Old hag, I shall be fair with you. If you say onto me, 'Gorion of Halruaa, I demand that you cease molesting my feet immediately,' then I will unhand you and never speak of this whole matter again."

Tallix mumbled an inarticulate sound, tilting her head back as the footrub relieved her of her convictions. A red blush had filtered across her face, and her toes twitched of their own accord.

The wizard glanced at her languidly; the stork had a _smug_ look on his face. "Hmm?" he murmured. Her unassailed foot was curling in the folds of his robe, a little tellingly, but he pretended he didn't notice it. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that, old friend; my ears seem to be getting weak with age. Mind repeating yourself?"

"What are ye _doin'_, Feathers?" she groaned in protest, losing the will to keep herself propped upright. She flopped back against the palette. The day suddenly seemed much heavier, and she registered how _sleepy_ she was.

"Mmnn... Perhaps I am seducing a Deathstalker?" the wizard suggested. He pressed between each of her toes, flexing them and depressing at a pressure point upon the arch.

"Oh," floated the hin woman's faint reply, as anything more complicated had seeped out her ears.

The aasimar smirked confidently to himself. It had been an unfortunately long stretch of time since he'd had control of nearly anything.

He spent a good fifteen minutes massaging each of his halfling's feet. Then he reached over her and got an arm across her midsection, and dragged her across her palette and onto his. She didn't so much as huff at him. He cast his blankets over both of them, and curled up around her. The smell of rain and pipe leaf were remarkably unoffensive.

Had it truly been over a decade since he'd last seen this tiny, devil woman? She was startlingly familiar, for such a lengthy absence.

"Hey," she croaked tiredly.

"Mm?"

A long pause followed. "I missed ye."


	19. Peaks and Valleys

In which we can most likely suppose that Eldoth has somehow joined the party, despite never having been invited.

_..._

* * *

_**Peaks and Valleys**_

_..._

* * *

The dilettante had sat his pert little butt down at their lunch table and was taking to Aegis in a smooth voice as he counted off high-paying adventuring jobs on his gloved fingers. This, of course, offended everyone else at the table; but no one quite so much so as Shar-Teel. The fightress was walking back with her 'breakfast' in hand, but the sight of _Eldoth_ made her pause and grimace viciously. If Aegis was being _that_ gullible, Shar-Teel would need to punch some sense into the ranger girl _herself_.

_Hmm._ Aegis was leaning back in her chair, with her arms over her chest and one brow raised. The look on her face was hard to interpret. She seemed to know exactly what sort of rake she was dealing with, but to find him amusing enough to tolerate regardless. Well, she still seemed stupidly attached to her death wizard and, admittedly, _tolerance_ did seem to be Aegis' thing.

Shar-Teel scowled anyway, because it sure as hell wasn't _her _thing, and that whore bard deserved nothing better than to have his head screwed off or a knife screwed up his bum. Hells, Shar-Teel was still pissed at_ Edwin_ for not dying, and she was _certainly_ pissed at Imoen for saving him. _Little brat doesn't have a clue what's good for her. _At least it meant they'd have another wizard headed into Cloakwood; and the Red Windbag had proven in Ulcaster that he knew how to throw fire accurately. But Eldoth? Useless, slimy, city waste.

The fightress sat her ass down at the table with much scraping and ado, so that her arrival could not be mistaken. Eldoth noticed, winked at her, looked back to Aegis and kept talking. Shar-Teel narrowed her eyes at him and ground her teeth. Then she glanced over as Ajantis awkwardly took the seat beside her.

"You and I are not _paired_, Pretty Boy," she informed him angrily. Then a grin replaced her scowl. "Althouughhh, if you'd _like_ a roommate while your mistress gone, I just recently lost my bunkmate to that Red Asswipe." She flicked her fork at where Edwin and Imoen had gone back to reviewing scribbles on paper.

Ajantis winced a very painful looking wince but said nothing. He tugged his plate to himself and tried to eat. Shar-Teel eyed him suspiciously for a moment, but at least he was blocking off the sight of Eldoth. She shrugged and set to eating.

...

* * *

Xzar drifted down the staircase around two hours after Aegis and Xan had originally put him to bed. He approached the dinner table quietly with his gaze turned out towards nothing and his thoughts clearly floating. Pretzels hopped down the stairs after him, tripped into a puddle of fur at the bottom, and then flopped back to all four feet and moseyed after his heels as if nothing had happened. A few yards from the table, Xzar noticed Eldoth and paused.

The bard was no longer atop the table, for which Jaheira and the tavern wenches were both grateful. He was sitting beside Aegis and telling her a story over wine: Something about Ruathym and the musica college of New Olamn. He was speaking and gesticulating smoothly, his eyes heavy lidded and a with perpetual smirk on his face.

Xzar tilted his head to the side. He was still for a moment before quietly padding up to join the party. He took the chair behind Eldoth, eased it a hair's breadth off the ground so that it would not scrape, and drew it out from under the table. The necromancer sat himself down in silence, and then entertained himself with watching the bard from behind. After a short while, he leaned back into his chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and lowered his chin to his collar. Green eyes narrowed intently.

...

* * *

It took Eldoth shorter than one might have imagined to realize that Aegis was probably smiling at something unrelated to his story. He blinked thoughtfully at he reached a pause in the narrative. She _was_ smiling. She was on the verge of _giggling_.

"What are _you_ so distracted by?" he wondered leisurely, affecting a pout. "Does my story _bore_ you?"

"I, just-" Aegis couldn't help it; she laughed. "I don't think my boyfriend likes you very much. Then again, I don't think he likes _bards_."

"Oh, I don't know about that, my love," a liquid voice purred out from behind Eldoth Kron. "I might like one or two. In jars. With methanol and myrrh..."

More than one person at the table tried to figure out how to feel about the fact that Aegis truly did plan on continuing her relationship with a madman who had nearly eaten her. Strangely, her decision did not strike anyone as anywhere near as horrible as it might have been forty-five minutes previously.

"Boy-?" Eldoth lifted a brow and then turned around.

Xzar was watching him with vibrant green eyes and a one-sided smirk. The wizard's shadow had twisted up the length of his chair and bloomed through the air behind in long, black, ghostly tendrils around him. They looked like claws and, although Xzar seemed oblivious to them, they were all pointed directly at Eldoth. "Do go on," The necromancer encouraged. "You were just getting to the good part."

Eldoth's eyes narrowed, but he affected a lack of fear at the ghastly display. "Oh see now that is attractive," the bard snarked in a dismissive tone, clearly appalled.

Xzar's smirk twitched. "Attractive? I don't have to be. I'm an expert in matters of anatomy. Speaking of which, if you do ever end up getting into Aegis' bed, I hope you wont mind me taking notes; I'm interested in learning how long her constitution might last her in a sexual entanglement with an untrained handler. My current estimates hover at around seven to ten hours, depending on relevant skill sets and experience. We may need to procure several potions of healing and stamina but, after all, this is for scientific posterity."

The bard's low jaw drooped, his brows came together in dismay, and it seemed he was struck speechless. Shar-Teel, who had scarcely been able to contain herself, burst out laughing louder than thunder. She dropped her head into her arms and hammered a fist on the table, guffawing manically.

At least _one_ person forgave Xzar for existing, that afternoon.

...

* * *

[You are n-not telling them that we speak M-mulhorandi?] Khalid asked her in a whisper.

Jaheira glanced briefly over at where Imoen was wheedling Edwin for something in Mulhorandi. She had not been in the group to watch the unlikely duo's friendship as it formed, but she'd had plenty of time to witness it on the road into Beregost. It was still strange to Khalid. [I am appreciating the insight.]

{Come on, show me the spell we decoded!} Imoen tugged at the corner of the wizard's spellbook.

{No.} The answer was blunt as he shooed her hands away from his work. {Nothing explosive at this juncture. You lack the discipline for it, and I will neither be responsible for you killing yourself nor the dramatic fit that will undoubtedly ensue if you wipe out half the party.}

{Oh come on; just let me look at it!} she complained. {He gave it to both of us and it was totally in pink and I figured it out and-}

{No, no, and again, no. Hsst, I am busy, child. Have I not already situated you with sufficient material to study? Master that and perhaps I will consider it.}

Imoen heaved an enormous sigh and looked sullenly back down at the Mage Armor scroll which had been declining her comprehension all afternoon. Then she twirled about and flopped onto her back, with her feet kicked up against the wall. The Thayvian's left thigh was repurposed as a pillow.

{Excuse me,} the conjurer complained, lifting his arms slightly as if not wanting to touch her any more than she'd already just subjected him to. {What is this unsightly behavior, and in what warped concept of the universe could it possibly be mistaken for appropriate?}

{Well maybe this is just how I want to study. Maybe I like the idea of being curled up with a good book on a rainy day with a friend,} she pouted unhappily, dragging her Mage Armor scroll off the table for study.

{Your tone of voice would suggest otherwise: and most likely you have already exceeded the length your incredibly limited attention span. Shoo with you, then. Go and play for a few hours, or whatever it is you typically do with your free time.}

{Yeah, well, maybe this is my vengeance for being stuck inside cause I'm too paranoid of crazy spontaneous catastrophes to leave you alone anywhere,} she retorted indolently.

Edwin eyed her for a moment. Then he settled down his quill, half-turned towards her, and leaned his opposite elbow on the table to support his chin on his knuckles. {Alright,} he gave a martyred sigh. {Alright. I'll bite. What has you so mentally constipated, waif?}

Imoen blinked. Then she quickly lifted up her scroll so that it was between their faces.

Edwin reached down to lightly press it out of the way. His expression was slightly amused, but still unimpressed. {I'm waiting.}

Imoen looked away evasively. {The... the spellbook thing.}

{You must be joking.}

...

* * *

"Hey, Ae?" Imoen asked, sliding into the main table with her pack in hand now that Eldoth had vacated the seat. "Can, um, can I ask your permission for something?"

The ranger looked over to her sister and tilted her head to the side.

"Okay, so..." Imoen looked sort of nervous. "So It's long past time I ought to have my own spellbook. A-and maybe even some research material to s-study..." She blurted the remainder in a rush: So I wanted to ask your permission to use a really special certain spellbook!"

Aegis perked up. For all that she'd known Imoen to steal scrolls all their lives, the pink girl had never once opened the topic of magic with her. Ever. But when Imoen produced an incredibly familiar looking book, it caught Aegis' attention immediately. Wordlessly the ranger reached out for it; and Imoen quickly gave it to her.

"That is Gorion's spellbook," Jaheira and Khalid realized, and Xzar perked up immediately. "Did you take it when he fell?" the druid asked.

"Yeah I snuck it," Imoen murmured. "Ae was so upset, and..."

Aegis could recognize her father's draconic calligraphy. Gorion had a tendency to mix the usage of blue and black inks, and his work always looked incredibly balanced and flourished. He had written a number of notes, and although the concepts were well beyond Aegis, she could hear his voice as she read the words. For awhile, she was quiet. Then she took in a deep breath and slowly closed the tome back up.

Across the table, Shar-Teel glanced thoughtfully up from her plate as she chewed. She swallowed a mouthful of cheese and salami, leaned forward, and demanded: "Oi, Pink! Back when the Thayvian's brain was toasted: This have anything to do with how it seemed he learned a spell _identical_ to those potions you were giving him?"

Imoen whirled about to gape at Shar-Teel in astonishment. Aegis didn't have a head for magic, Xzar didn't have sufficient context, and Xan had left the table to hang out with Branwen. How in all that was holy had _Shar-Teel_ jumped to that conclusion?She'd scarcely had ten seconds of contact with Edwin after Ulcaster! _Oh wow. _Imoen looked quickly back at Aegis. _Oh booger toast. _The ranger was frowning down at her with a stern and knowing look. _I'm in trouble._

"Ah. Um. Thanks, Sharty. Well. Ah... Yesss... Does it help that I totally supervised him?" the pink girl offered. Aegis looked down at where Imoen was nervously tapping her fingers together. "Um...?"

"(I would say I am surprised that the frothing ogre woman somehow managed to successfully engineer that observation; but in reality I am just coming to the slow realization that everything about this party is mad)," Edwin muttered as he was standing up. He went to step past their table, and his voice raised to full volume again: "Please do not make this about me," he sighed. "Just be glad I managed to convince the pink waif to actually come clean with anyone about having the book at all. She was gnawing her fingernails like a fool getting all worked up about it."

Aegis reached out behind her and snagged a Red Wizard by his hood.

Edwin slumped irritably. "Yes. What now."

"Edwin, this was my father's spellbook," the large blonde informed him.

"Which baffles me, I assure you. The man who penned those pages was clearly an archmagus of no small scale, and his stylistic choices suggest an uncannily intrinsic knowledge of magical form. Why he elected to waste his life sequestered in a library rearing a bull-headed force of manual labor is beyond me; but it is clear where your extensive historical, dungeoneering, and geological education came from despite your abysmally impotent intellect.

"Regardless, I have been given access to the tome but once, and in that time I inscribed a single spell. Rest assured that Scholar's Intellect is, while admittedly a rare spell among wizards, nevertheless incredibly unlikely to play any direct role in bringing about global domination by your rightful Thayvian overlords."

Aegis was quiet for a moment. "Imoen. In there, in that rant, somewhere, did he both admit and then gloss over the fact that my father was a greater wizard than him, and that he had trouble decoding even one simple spell?"

"Yeah he had loads of trouble," Imoen agreed. "He used all the remaining potions, and finished _just_ in time; like two hours before he would have gotten stuck like that."

Edwin stiffened and looked towards his apprentice, slowly, with a tight and furious expression upon his face.

"Oh," Aegis concluded as Shar-Teel snickered. "Well I feel much better about it now." She released the Red Wizard and, after a moment's contemplation, slid Gorion's spellbook back across the table to Imoen.

Edwin stumbled slightly from the release of tension and then stood there, fists clenched, trying to figure out whether to assault them with how fabulous his masterful intellect was, or how petty and insignificant the old monk had been. Imoen made eye contact with him, smiled, and shrugged slightly.

For a moment, he tried to determine precisely how much he hated her. Then he straightened a little, realizing that the party's latest surge of hostility towards him had been smoothed over and that they were scarcely paying him any more attention. The only two even looking at him were Imoen and- Edwin caught Xzar's shuttered gaze, and glanced briefly at the necromancer.

_Hnh..._

...

* * *

"So, have you decided what we're doing yet?" Imoen asked of her sister, who seemed pensive. "I mean, if we're not quite ready for Cloakwood...?"

"Well, we're not going anywhere until Viconia's name has been cleared and Kivan's back," the ranger mused. "After that, I haven't decided. Maybe I'll figure it out over a nice hot bath. That is, if I can convince myself the world won't fall apart as soon as my back is turned. Mm? These are new," Aegis noted, plucking at Imoen's sleeve. The thief was in white and cream, which was a noticeable change in color scheme.

"Yuppers!" Imoen recalled, pinching the fabric to show off the shirt. The thief had just lost her favorite pink tunic, with its puffed and slashed sleeves; but she'd needed heavier winter cottons regardless. Heavier cottons with equally puffed and slashed sleeves, of course. "Edwin and I went clothes shopping for winter about noon!"

Xzar smirked and glanced after where the Red Wizard had departed off to. "Oh I'm sure he positively _loved_ that."

"Jokes on you; I'm not even cold yet, and he gets so chilly I'm probably going to make him layer a second robe under the first!" Then Imoen paused and eyed Xzar warily. "Hey, wait, aren't I supposed to still be really, really, really distrusting of you?"

Xzar affected a look of utter sainthood. "With me? No, of course not, preposterous," he dismissed with a brusque wave of his hand while looking about with blatant and over-the-top-evasiveness. Imoen planted her hands on her hips and eyed him critically. He glanced shyly back at her. Imoen looked up at Aegis.

"I do _not_ get _him_ at _all,_" she complained to her sister. He's just admitted he was an evil cleric. Is he supposed to be _cute_, or utterly and soul-churningly terrifying?"

"He alternates by the quarter of the hour," Aegis decided with a sigh. "And depending on a person's sense of humor. Ironically, the threat of rival suitors seems to marshall his senses." Shar-Teel overheard, and laughed, because Xzar's arrival had most certainly been what drove Eldoth from the table.

Imoen pursed her lips to the side. "You two are _still_ together, even after everything?" she realized, suddenly respectful of how long this relationship had lasted. For such a weird match, 'a season' together seemed to carry the weight of years.

Aegis glanced at Xzar, who fell quiet and peered up at her uncertainly. She was quiet for a moment, contemplating the question Imoen had put to her. "I haven't decided just yet," she said.

Imoen looked to Xzar, who deflated at the response and looked guiltily down at her hands. Then she looked back at Aegis. "Yowch. Why don't you kick him once or twice while you're at it?"

Nothing surprised Aegis more than to hear her sister say that. She twisted about and looked at Imoen in surprise. Xzar lifted his head. Imoen raised a brow. The ranger blinked. "When did you start approving of him and I?" Aegis wondered.

"Ain't I done told you?" the pink girl demanded. "When a tattoo deflected an axe! Didn't you hear me say you guys were adorable back when a necromancer started Tearing up over a pet cat!? It's done! You've convinced me! I don't take back my convincation at the drop of a hat, you know! I might not understand the attraction here the tiniest bit; but you can bet your arse the first thing I thought when they told me Xzar had betrayed you to Cyrites was: 'That doesn't make a lick of sense; Xzar hates rabbits.' "

Xzar stared. Aegis did, too. Someone _else_ had figured out what 'rabbits' meant?

Imoen broke out laughing at them and stuck out her tongue. "What were you expecting?" the pink girl teased slyly. "For me to grab my torch and pitchfork like everyone else? Hmm, that's odd." She tapped her chin. "Saaayyy, by any chance, have I ever introduced you to my good friend and roommate, Edwin Odesseiron? He tends to get in tremendous amounts of trouble, both with people and their metaphorical farming implements..."

Aegis hesitated. Then she gave a heavy sigh, and rubbed her face. "I think I'm going to take that bath now," she remarked, slowly getting out of her seat. "Everyone try not to kill everyone."

Jaheira chuckled mirthlessly, knowingly. "I'll hold down the fort while you are gone," she promised her niece.

...

* * *

{So you were totally right about the spellbook!} Imoen pounced Edwin so quickly after he was done with the latrine that he nearly jumped.

{I am _always_ right,} he informed her, heart still racing from startlement. Fortunately, he had sprung no contingencies; that would have been embarrassing.

{Except for when you are horribly, overwhelmingly, and mind-bogglingly wrong?} she questioned, a big grin on her face. He scowled. {Like about folding toilet tissues?} His scowl transfigured to an eye-roll. {Now I have all this energy! Wee! I feel so much better!}

{I can see that. Please go work it off.} He plucked her hand off of him and transported it back out of his personal space to where it belonged.

She followed him to the bar. {Well I guess there's an hour of daylight left. I supposed I could practice archery!} They had replaced her burnt bracers with thick new archery gloves cut below the first knuckle. They needed to be tested! {Will you come out with me?}

{What? No. What would I do at an archery range? Much less in this miserable weather?} He ordered more wine.

{Sit with me and study while I practice and keep me company?} she hoped.

{Kwefai, I am simply going to pretend I didn't hear that.}

{But Edwin, the world is big and scary out there and filled with all sorts of nefarious folk and their stabbity daggers of doom who might want to kill poor ickle me!}

{Then stay inside where it is warm and engage in sane pursuits like reading,} her wizard did not rise to the bait as he collected his bottle. {Go bother one of the giantesses. I am sure they would be happy to lob sticks at haystacks with you. (Which will keep them away from me, and kill two birds with one stone- Ow!)}

{Well, that's probably a good idea. Only _Minsc_ looks like he could use some cheering up, and he is definitely is the best Outdoor Adventure Friend one could ever ask for. I'll ask him, then. You won't get murdered while I'm gone?} she demanded after a moment.

Edwin eyed her resentfully for one moment, irritably the next, and then tolerantly in the next. {Cross my heart,} he replied dryly. Then, suddenly, it occurred to him that his apprentice now planned heading out into bad weather, just before nightfall, with the stooge of a witch who had tried to kill her yesterday. His expression faltered. {Try to avoid any waterfalls while you are out.}

{Have fun studying alone!}

...

* * *

Imoen skipped off to find Minsc, who was sulking miserably at the party table with his big forearms draped over his knees and his head hung low. When she tapped him on the shoulder, he looked up immediately. Then his eyes widened a little, and he straightened. The first thing he said was: "Feisty One never meant it...!"

The thief winced slightly but then nodded. "I know, Minsc," she assured him, patting his big shoulder. "You want to come to the archery range with me? With all the crazy evil stuff goin' on lately, I don't wanna head out alone!"

Nothing could rouse Minsc like a textbook case of a damsel, a hero, and the potential for evil! "Of course!" he exclaimed, leaping to his feet. "Imoen will be safe at the range with a rang_er_, eh! Well, and with Boo, of course. Boo was incredibly worried about Imoen, you know."

The pink girl giggled. "Anyone else wanna head to the archery range for an hour?" she called. "Anyone?"

Jaheira glanced to Khalid, who smiled and stood. "I-I'll c-come."

"Woot! Anyone else? Sharty? Last call!"

Shar-Teel smirked at the nickname and shrugged. She moved to scoot back out of her chair that she might rise and join them. Before she could say anything, however, a ubiquitous Eldoth Kron had detached from whatever he'd been trying to entertain himself with, and flit up to the pink girl to lay a hand upon her sleeve.

"I suppose I could make sure my gear's still in good condition," the bard proffered smoothly as he shouldered his lute.

All mirth left Shar-Teel's face. Ajantis looked up at the fightress as she rounded the table with rough swiftness. "I'm coming," she informed Imoen in a bark. Eldoth looked to the big woman and gave a flourished bow of greeting. She glared down at him with all the well-meaning of a hungry panther. Quietly, dutifully, Ajantis stood and pushed both of their chairs back under the table. Wordlessly, he followed the archery troupe out.

Jaheira peered surreptitiously up at Edwin.

The Red Wizard stared after their departing backs, feeling oddly dismayed. He was quiet for a moment even as they exited the tavern. "So..." The Thayvian began. "Just to be clear I am on the same page as everyone else concerning the bard: if he keeps groping pink thieves, the angry Shar-Teel is going to tear his spleen out, yes?"

"Oh, I'll wager she'll tear out much more than just his spleen," Jaheira agreed.

"Mm. Good. At least she's useful for something." The Red Wizard turned to go back to his booth and his study materials, affecting to look unbothered by whatever it was that had bothered him.

...

* * *

Aegis must have heard Xzar catch the room door as it swung closed and slip in behind her, but she didn't turn around to look. He thought that was still so startlingly naive for a woman who had been ambushed in a bedroom recently. Still, he was glad for a moment to gather his thoughts as he slipped up behind her. His fingers eased forward in search of her touch, even as he reproached them. They settled upon her shoulder blade as she worked at the ties of her gambeson.

She stilled.

He drew in a sharp breath, and then his voice wavered: "May I help?" he needed to know.

She was quiet for a moment, thinking. Then she turned about and favored him with a strikingly calm expression. "I don't bruise so easily," she told him. "You honestly would have needed to hit me a lot harder."

Green eyes flit back and forth, uncertainly, across her face. Then Xzar frowned, confused as to whether he'd her correctly. When her expression did not waver, he straightened a few inches. "You... you aren't upset? Angry?" he dared to believe.

"I'm not sure I was even angry past the first few minutes," she decided at long last. "Though everyone else sure was."

He jerked back an inch. "I _betrayed_ your trust," he reminded her.

She looked at him as if he were being absurd. "It seems you didn't. It seems you protected me the only way you could think of." He swallowed, and looked clearly floored. Aegis shifted her weight and then ran a hand back through her hair. "Look, when I bought into this... thing... between us full time, I knew I had to be mentally prepared to work through a lot of harrowing moral dilemmas. I've been braced for genuinely cringe-worthy disasters, because I know full well what it means to say you are a necromancer.

"And yet," she sighed, "after all that mental and emotional preparation, _this_ is the worst that's happened? This is it?" Aegis eased off her gambeson, folded it, and tossed it aside. "Then I'd say we're doing pretty damn good, all things considered."

Xzar lifted his hand curiously to his mouth, and tilted his head to the side. He was quiet a moment before asking: "What if the target had not been you? What if it had been Imoen?"

"You'd be a splotch on the ground," Aegis admitted, and then muttered thoughtfully: "Or a burn mark, depending on who reached you first."

The necromancer scoffed. "You should have let me kill him." Aegis looked back to him. "He represents a clear and present threat both to yourself because of his knowledge and to the group at large because of his temperament." She stepped into his personal space and placed a finger upon his lips. The wizard hushed.

"I would appreciate if we could keep the topic off of killing people this evening," the ranger explained, tiredly. "Particularly with all the ordinarily calm and tolerant people slavering for blood. And with all the effort I've been putting in to keep things from dissolving into a free-for-all. I understand it's a bit much to ask you to _help_ me keep the peace, considering you and Jaheira have been at eachother's throats since the day you met each other; but still, I would appreciate if you could save it for when I'm not already stretched so thin."

The wizard stared at her as she spoke, his face softening at the realization that she needed a form of support only he could give. "What... what did he want to speak to you about, then?" he thought to ask.

"Edwin?" She lowered her hand. "Godhood."

This clearly startled the necromancer, and he asked rapidly: "What answer did Chamomile Death give to the nasty Thayvian?"

She shrugged. "I reminded him I was rather murder-impaired."

"That was her sentiment?" the wizard tested, uncertainly. "The Nature Child is told she might have opportunity to seize immortality, and her reaction is sarcastic disinterest?"

"What would _I _do with immortality? No one thought to counsel me on my entry to this divine competition prior to fucking my mother," the ranger retorted. "Does that mean..." She looked off at nothing. "Does that mean Edwin was right? That Bhaal's children might have a shot at godhood? Is that why the Horned Knight most likely came after me; because I look like competition?"

"This humble wizard does not know; his interest was in the borders between life and death" Xzar chattered quickly, still agitated. " Apotheosis is a nebulous and ill-documented subject, as are the mechanics of divine portfolios, and the means by which they cleave to their rightful masters. A rhetorical question, this frazzled wizard poses: Which suits the Dead God's temperament more; that he should leave his children with the power to avenge him, or that he should embed them with a means to his own restoration? And, to those who stand to benefit from riding on the winner's coattails, does it really matter?"

Aegis looked quickly down at her necromancer, startled. Then she grimaced in realization. "My dreams," she realized. "They're instructions of some kind or another; that's why you started advising me to ignore them. And other 'children,' they must have the same dreams. And perhaps _much_ less of a reason to ignore them."

Xzar had started chewing his lower lip, his thoughts on a tangentially related topic. He hesitated over how to answer her. "Perhaps... perhaps not _all_ of them." He was thinking about Imoen; and of the _possibility_ that two orphans had not been reared together by accident in the keeping of foster fathers who had once adventured together. It had been bothering him ever since Edwin's uncharacteristically insightful induction. His brows came together as he tried to figure out precisely what to do about that; but his thoughts went in at least seven circles, and when he realized his solutions had become unnecessarily elaborate and nonsensical he resigned himself that he would find no conclusion.

"Aegis," he interrupted he thoughts with an abrupt intake of air, "having a family is _difficult_," he pouted. "I have no idea whatsoever how you manage."

That startled a laugh from her. "Family?" she smirked. "Are you and I family, then, Xzar? I believe where we left off, you were in the middle of feeling incredibly guilty for committing unforgivable taboos against me."

He jumped and blinked rapidly for a moment. Then his face sobered, and he cleared his throat. "Yes. That. Aegis, I feel that I should begin by-" he lifted a hand to gesticulate, but the ranger interrupted him:

"How about we skip that part and go straight to having makeup sex on the dresser?"

Whatever Xzar had meant to say next came out in an articulate garble as his hand flopped. He blinked slowly, several times, without otherwise moving. "Beg pardon?"

"Alternatively, we can use the wall. I'm curious if there's a way to do it with me holding you off the ground."

A wizard's brain was an amazing thing: goal-driven, research-oriented, and remarkably fine-tuned for solving difficult problems. These attributes also made it surprisingly easy to distract: "Well, we would have to angle it appropriately. Perhaps interlace the legs? It's the thrusting that could be hard in such a configuration and-" He didn't skip a beat from one thought to the other as he managed to remember what he'd been doing prior to being blindsided by a matter of logistics. "- are you sure this is correct? It seems all wrong somehow. Under what dramatic tradition are we working? Who established this as a proper protocol for resolving such situations?

"Where is the long penance and winding penance? The artificially imposed distance? Is there to be no heartbroken looks of yearning stretched out over weeks; no uncomfortable dinners filled with uncertainty, distrust, and confusion?" He'd started pacing. "I was braced for any properly storybook punishment you might have dreamed up, I'll have you know! I'd practiced what I'd say and worked out how I'd ameliorate you; I even memorized an almost-romantic poem or two!" He spun about to shake a finger at her. "A tremendous amount of effort went into determining what to do from here, madam! Tremendous!"

Aegis raised a brow. "Are you going to help me undress, or stand there feeling disappointed with how I don't hate you? Because if you're not going to humor my sexual- and possibly acrobatic- curiosity, then I at _least_ need to take a bath.

The wizard leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. "I-" He watched her incredulously for a moment, and then gave a toss of his head and threw his arms up in the air and approached her. "Oh, very well then. But!"

"But?"

"But, but, but, but, but, _but!" _He smoothed his hands up the lengths of his arms until they rested upon her shoulders, and he leaned forward to grin conspiratorially. "I _insist_ upon worshiping every part of you as I disrobe it; and then there is to be copious usage of lavender oil. No sex until every last muscle has had the kinks rubbed out of it, and every inch of flesh has been lavished in entirely overboard affection; and that's final!"

He tapped her nose and Aegis straightened slightly, her eyes lowering to half mast. Then, as he stepped into her and his hands flit across her clothing, she groaned softly. "_Gods_ I love you, Fool," she whispered, turning her face slightly into his messy graham hair. "I probably do not want to hear any of that poetry, do I?"

The wizard touched his mouth to her collar as he unlaced her tunic. "Most probably not," he confessed. "We'll need to lump recitation in with the prohibition against my singing; it's simply too out of character."

She shifted her weight as nimble fingers bared her skin. "Alright. One. You can recite one."

"Mm." The green-eyed man smiled knowingly into her neck and spoke without hesitation:

"_I love the handful of the earth you are._  
_"Because of its meadows, vast as a planet,_  
_"I have no other star. You are my replica_  
_"of the multiplying universe._

_"Your wide eyes are the only light I know_  
_"from the extinguished constellations;_  
_"your skin throbs like the streak_  
_"of a meteor through the rain._

_"Your hips are that much of the moon for me;_  
_"your deep mouth and its delights, that much sun;_  
_"your heart, fiery with its long red rays,_

_"is that much ardent light, like honey in the shade._  
_"So I pass across your burning form, kissing_  
_"you – compact and planetary, my dove, my globe."_

...

* * *

Ajantis could not have been said to be feeling _introspective_, as he was not ruminating on himself or on the events of the night before. If anything, his mind felt somehow quiet as he accompanied his group to the archery range.

Shar-Teel clearly did not like Eldoth, though Ajantis was not immediately clear as to her reasoning. If anything, Ajantis felt other people had much more obvious reasons to disapprove of Eldoth Kron. The bard seemed to have very little concept of honor, he made use of poisons like a craven assassin, and he had callously executed an unarmed man and former ally.

What exactly did Shar-Teel disapprove of?

After all, Ajantis had never once seen Eldoth insult the fightress. Much to the contrary: the bard seemed to be _flirting_ with her.

Imoen had testified that Eldoth was a selfish, and adulterous man; a rake. She'd suggested that he'd ply charms on any woman: from innocent virgins, to honest adventurers, to married noblewomen, to widowed heiresses. A foul and ill-bred man, he sounded; A leech who manipulated the emotions of the fairer sex and then profited from their confusion. But Imoen had laughed at Eldoth's unwholesome attributes, and brushed them off as if they were nothing.

Imoen, Ajantis lamented, had grown into an unfortunately loose woman. _The face of an angel, and the legs of a whore, _was the cold and dismissive way in which his _father_ would have described her, the paladin thought bitterly. But no: Imoen had a sprightly warmth and tenderness to her character, and there were times she felt like the entire party's adorable kid sister. Even her thieving tendencies seemed a forgivable vice; and, from what he had gathered, her unnatural preoccupation with carnal knowledge was a scar she bore from being wounded in love.

Ajantis was glad he did not know the man who had betrayed Imoen Winthrop; he suspected such knowledge would have sorely tempted him towards violence...

Shar-Teel, on the other hand, was _also _a loose woman; one with an unwholesome sexual appetite, a lax moral compass, and a similar disregard for life. So why did _she_ find Eldoth repulsive? The paladin could not yet say.

It was chilly out.

Ajantis noted that few of his party members seemed to mind the temperature. Minsc was wearing no shirt, and Shar-Teel lacked for sleeves, but neither seemed even remotely uncomfortable. Eldoth seemed mildly peeved by the weather, as if it had offended him in some manner, but his general posture suggested he did not really feel the cold. And Imoen was cloakless and skipping.

Ajantis glanced at Khalid with a wordless question. Khalid, who had pulled his cloak tightly about his arms, smiled. Ajantis chuckled in acknowledgement. They were both from warmer climates; and they were going to need warmer clothing for Cloakwood.

...

* * *

Archery, Ajantis thought as Imoen passed out longbows and arrows to them, was one of those things that separated wizarding and clerical folk from, essentially, everyone else.

Whether it was for livelihood, self-defense, or sport, the bow was a ubiquitous weapon in well-forested countries. Because it lacked for metal, it was the sort of tool any man (or woman, Ajantis reminded himself as he glanced at Shar-Teel) could afford to keep, and which few could afford to do without. Every town had its bowyer, and the vast majority of peasantry could craft a reasonable yew implement themselves.

It would have been rare to find a man in the west who had not handled a shortbow, be he peasant or nobleman; and many from the High Forest or Neverwinter would have learned on a longbow as Ajantis had. Indeed, archery was a sport many of Faerun's people could unite in sharing; if, of course, they had not devoted themselves to the study of magic.

Ajantis was hardly surprised to see Beregost's archery range had seen plenty of use throughout the summer and fall. A farmer was there when they arrived, even, practicing against small, hanging, wooden targets. He was a good shot.

Bows were one of few implements the common folk could rely on in order to defend themselves. On top of that, iron had been so unreliable lately that even Tazok seemed to have hired ranged mercenaries almost exclusively when build up the meat of his bandit forces.

Ajantis paused mid-thought. The farmer was staring at them and, the paladin realized, he was holding much the same position as when they'd first approached; with his bow half drawn. His face was pale, and he looked as if he had seen a ghost.

Ajantis straightened. He glanced at Shar-Teel to make sure she wasn't about to hurt anyone. She wasn't; Eldoth was discussing the finer points of the shortbow with Khalid, and Shar-Teel and Minsc were bantering over who could pull off the most badass/heroic-looking shot. Imoen had mentioned she'd only seen Minsc handle a bow once in her life, but that he'd been able to shoot behind himself while running away and actually hit his targets. Shar-Teel spat on the ground; this was a challenge she needed to meet!

Ajantis looked back to the farmer. Then he quietly stepped aside from his party, and walked up to the man. The farmer was startled by his approach, and quickly set to fiddling with his bow.

"D-don't mind me, just shootin for-"

Ajantis came to a halt right beside him. "What will you do?" the paladin asked.

The farmer jumped. "What? I don't know what you-"

"After the Woods of Sharp Teeth. What will you do, now? Have you lands or family to return to?"

The man recoiled from him. Then, cowed and shaken, he looked away. "You going to turn me in?"

Ajantis was quiet, watching the Heartlander peasant for a long moment. He knew what he was looking at: once a farmer turned bandit, and now a man without work. With winter coming, the prognosis for ex-bandits was not particularly good. The harvest had been poor around Beregost with all marauding trouble throughout summer and autumn; and food might end up in short supply if Baldur's Gate did not open its southward bridge.

Even if aid arrived, what were all these displaced men to do with themselves?

Many might have women or children still manning lands around Beregost or the shops within; for whom banditry had been a regrettable but tempting source of income.

Others might return to old farmlands in the spring.

But for those who had nowhere to go, and who had tasted an immoral life, how were they to start over? The braver and more emotionally resilient among them might find work in guarding caravans; but those who were now too frightened or guilty-feeling to try and make due the honest way might turn back to banditry just as soon as they ran out of coin to drink with.

No, the prognosis for ex-bandits around Beregost was not particularly good.

"You need to go to Kelddath Ormlyr at the Song of the Morning," Ajantis told the man at long last. "He is the leader of this city. He has issued a pardon for all Heartlands men who engaged in banditry, and he always has need for more able hands."

The man grimaced. "We betrayed him. This town. The gods. We can't just pick up where we left off," he said in a hollow voice.

"He is uniquely suited for forgiving you on all three counts," Ajantis disagreed. "You need to go to him, and to ask how to make amends. Languish here in self pity until you run out of funds, and the only choice you'll wind up with is more banditry. only thsi time it will be without mercenary leaders, wealthy backers, or salaries. And the Flaming Fist will be hanging you by summer."

The man fell silent.

"Go to Kelddath. You have nothing to lose. Most likely, he will ask you to make the conversion from raider to protector; and then you must do everything in your power to hold to that new role so that you can move onward from this. Go to him. And if I'm right, tell everyone you know of who suffers in the same situation; by next winter, maybe things will be getting better again."

...

* * *

Minsc won the Heroic Shooting Competition (and the right to name it such, rather than the Badass Shooting Competition) by a landslide. It seemed the Rashemi man had an almost inexplainably canny feel for all weaponry, even as he preferred his over-sized greatsword. He was spry and quick on the initiative, and could spin about and shoot a target behind him without pausing a breath.

Sher-Teel cursed. Imoen cheered for the big man. Khalid had been so nervous about the pressure to look heroic that he'd dropped his first arrow. Ajantis had known better than to compete, and Eldoth hadn't cared to.

They spent the better half of the next hour chatting and shooting arrows. Imoen and Eldoth used their own shortbows, and the rest of the group used Blacktalon longbows. Ajantis thought it worthwhile to note that Shar-Teel didn't seem easily provoked by Minsc; and as her lane was between the Rashemi's and the Amnite's, she seemed to have a good time.

Eldoth and Ajantis were the worst shots in the bunch which, of course, delighted Shar-Teel. She swaggered about smugly after elbowing her way into their lanes and out-shooting them on their own targets. Eldoth watched her with almost patient bemusement and quipped something wry which Ajantis didn't hear but which left her shouting at him.

Ajantis, who did not want to be shouted at, conceded her victory. "Excellent shot," he complemented, and then Shar-Teel (somehow predictably) punched him.

But she punched him in the shoulder this time, not across the face; which left Ajantis was confused as to whether he had done something _wrong_ or something _right_, or whether his behavior had factored into her mood at all and Shar-Teel was simply working out energy from getting riled up at Eldoth. In any event, being struck in the shoulder was infinitely more comfortable than being decked upside the head, and he was appreciative of her choice in target.

Eldoth eyed the paladin. "You _really_ tolerate that?" he asked in pitying disbelief.

"What else would I do?" Ajantis muttered offhandedly.

"She _ought_ to be put in her place. A woman should never behave this way. You must know that; you had a gentleman's upbringing."

Ajantis twitched, startled, and looked over at the Ruathym bard. "I can't outfight her," the paladin responded swiftly, somewhat confused.

Eldoth raised his brows. "Whatever made you think I was suggesting _violence_ against the fairer sex? Or even that _you_ needed to beat her in a competition?" he asked. "Pay attention, then. Ahem. Shar-Teel!" he raised his voice. "If you continue strutting about like that, you might leave us with the erroneous impression you _hadn't_ been out-shot by a man!"

Sher-Teel turned a vicious, panther-like sneer onto the bard.

Eldoth winked almost playfully at her.

_Oh._ Ajantis realized. _They're going to kill each other. _His thoughts were silent for a moment. _Who... who's side am I on?_

...

* * *

Some of the party members retired early that evening, and others stayed up late to dance or drink.

Minsc's mood had improved dramatically with the application of outdoor activities, though his countenance was still troubled and melancholy once he'd settled down at the bar. Imoen tried to figure out how to cheer him up, and decided to ask him if she could hold Boo.

After asking Boo for his permission on the matter, Minsc settled the tiny rodent oh-so-carefully into her palms. Boo was an inquisitive and friendly little fellow. Imoen was happy to meet him, and fed him pumpkin seeds. Minsc told her stories about his homeland and the great berserker group he one day hoped to join, The Ice Dragon Berserker Lodge, which Imoen agreed was incredibly awesome sounding (Even from just the name!)

Minsc was already feeling much better when Khalid came up and sat down at the Rashemi's other side.

"P-pardon, Minsc, but eh... I-I was wondering if I-I might ask you and Boo for s-something?"

The ranger blinked and peered down at the half elf. "Of course!" he boomed. "What does Khalid need of Minsc?"

Imoen's brow furrowed together as she tried to write a mental algorithm for who Minsc actually used given names for. Most everyone had been given some kind of epithet by the berserker, and the people whom he called by name seemed almost randomly selected. Her mental algorithm failed; Minsc was just goofy that way.

"Well," Khalid began, "I w-was wondering i-if you might teach me how to k-knit?"

Imoen gaped.

"Of course!" Minsc exclaimed. "Hold on, I will get some yarn and the knitting needles! I shall need Boo to help me pick out the colors..."

Imoen gave Minsc his hamster with her jaw still hanging open. Then she looked at Khalid as Minsc hurried away from the bar. The half-elf smiled back at her. Imoen shook her head in disbelief. "You are a wonderful person, Khalid," Imoen told him. "Have I told you how much I love being niece 13B yet today?"

Khalid laughed. "Y-you can g-go frolick. I-I will keep him company f-for the next few hours."

"Aww!" Imoen giggled and stood up. She smooched her uncle upon the temple, and then did indeed hop off to frolic. Jaheira, across the room, decided she'd keep an eye on the girl.

...

* * *

Imoen was halfway through her second glass of spirit in Beregost was high that evening, and getting higher now that the Flaming Fist was confirming the dissolutions of the major bandit faction. She had no lack of attention from every curious, adventurous, or literary man in the inn. Everyone wanted to hear the story of how the bandits were defeated!

She had just started talking to a young cleric of Torm when a Red Wizard finally came to find her.

"So as I was saying, there was this gigantic dragon- Oh, hi Edwin!"

"I think you have taken a sufficient break from _Mage Armor_," was what the wizard said to her. "You should apply yourself back to your studies this evening."

"Wait, now? But I was just getting to the good part!" Imoen complained.

"If I went through all the trouble to be here today, then _you_ can at least do me the favor of taking your magical education more seriously," the Thayvian chastised, and gave her hair a tug.

"Welllllll... Okay, you're right. Let me just finish my wine..."

"I have a bribe prepared," Edwin countered.

Imoen eyed him suspiciously. "Wait, this sounds familiar. It's a rose wine, isn't it? Yes, I remember this! Will I actually get to _drink_ it this time?"

"It depends. Can you _stand_?" the wizard was more amused and less condescending than might have been expected. Wine tended to mellow him out, she recalled.

"Hehe! Yes." She looked back to the Tormite. "Hey, sorry I have to go! I'm almost technically not-so-secretly an apprentice wizard, and I've been summoned to The Land of Staring at Dusty Books for the Evening! I'm certain you understand!"

Clerics did, on average, understand a great deal about being summoned to The Land of Staring at Dusty Books for an Evening. This one was indeed sympathetic to her plight.

"Thanks! Maybe I can finish the story tomorrow?"

...

* * *

Edwin had taken one of their extra scrolls of _Mage Armor_ and drawn over the dweomer to circle forms and write notes between the sigils. He gave Imoen a number of _Mage Armor_ scrolls to study from. Her ability to focus had been much improved.

{Do I get that wine?} she demanded, however. {Magic is best with wine, I'll have you know.}

The Red Wizard smirked. {Rarely does anything come out of your mouth which is anywhere near so sensible as that,} he admitted, uncorking the rose and pouring them each half a glass.

{You have phenomenal taste,} she informed him after inspecting the aroma and taking a sip.

{I remember going to a carnival and being asked to supply an instruction on the subject of fine wine. You didn't say _anything _on the matter. Why was that?}

{Edwin, would you have _wanted_ some pink stranger interrupting you with her totally unnecessary peasant commentary?}

He eyed her with a bemused and shuttered expression. {Start studying before I become cross with you.}

She winked. Edwin was altogether different to talk to when he wasn't being defensive; which she supposed proved her argument that magic really did go best with wine.

_Mage Armor_ eluded her that evening, but she made progress on working out the forms. When she finally curled up to sleep, he continued to study for awhile. She listened to the sound of parchment under his fingers.

{Hey, Edwin?} she thought to ask. She hadn't wanted to bring this up; it was still a little shocking to think about. But now that she was laying down, the day's events were playing out fresh in her mind. {What we learned about my sister... Can I still trust you?}

A brief pause as the wizard looked over at her. {Yes,} he said, with an astonishing lack of words.

Imoen slumped a little, the anxiety and stress washing out of her. She took in a long, shuddering breath. Some things _needed_ to be simple. {I'm glad you came back,} she said after a moment.

Edwin watched her quietly as her breathing leveled out. Then he looked back to his spellbook, uncertain.

...

* * *

When Ajantis headed upstairs for the night, he found Shar-Teel leaning in the hallway at the top. She was sharpening her dagger, and grinned at him as he surmounted the last stair.

He stared at her in silence for a moment. Then:

"No."

Her eyes narrowed as if she wasn't certain she'd heard him correctly. Then she laughed. "Thought you'd learned by now that you aren't better than shit just because the woman who squeezed you out had a _surname,_" she remarked, pushing herself up from where she was leaning.

"That has nothing whatsoever to do with why I said 'No,'" Ajantis replied.

"Why? What have you left to lose?" she taunted with an unfriendly grin, sauntering up to him and gesturing at the length of his body. She smelled faintly of ale, but not so much that she was even tipsy. "Your almost-chastity?"

"I haven't been drinking, Shar-Teel. I am realizing that is probably for the best. As a paladin of Helm, I do not have the luxury of impaired judgement, or impulsiveness."

For a moment, Shar-Teel did not respond. Then, slowly, her taunting smile curled into an ugly sneer as she stared down at him. Her eyes did not smile, or jibe; they _stabbed_. Her silence was more deadly sounding than her taunts had ever been. Her cheek, and what had once been her smirk, twitched.

Ajantis sighed, dismayed and uncertain what he had done 'wrong' this time. "Goodnight, Shar-Teel," he said at last, and he kissed her chin and pushed past her that he might go to his own room.

The fightress straightened up almost violently at the unexpected contact. She didn't move as he shouldered past her. Her wide-eyed gaze remained fixed on the wall ahead of her. Her lips continued twitching. She stood there for the better part of a minute, her naked dagger still in one hand and her whetstone clutched in the other.

...

* * *

Midnight.

Imoen was upright almost before she was conscious, with a startled cry on her lips. There were hands on her, and she thrashed violently up to a seated position, still caught in a rapid stream of disconnected memories. She could feel that burnt mage, tearing at her clothing! "Get off me-!"

"Kwefai-!"

The voice was right beside her. She grabbed at red silk and then paused and blinked hazily into the gloom. She was at the inn, in her bedroom. Edwin was at the side of her cot, and his arms were firmly around her shoulders to keep her from flailing. "W-what happened?" she mumbled, confused.

The conjurer relaxed slightly, his arms slipping from around her. "You were nightmaring, I think," he sounded a little groggy. "And starting to yelp and shout. Are you alright?"

Imoen slumped a little at the realization. She looked around aimlessly, still trying to catch her breath. Then she moaned and flopped back onto her cot and flopped her arms over her face. "Fuck," was all she found herself able to say, and then: "Blah."

Edwin hovered sleepily over her for a moment. "What was it about?" he asked.

"Oh, you know. Everything," she hand-waved, exhausted "Stress. Gods. Fingers. Getting molested by a horny and violent abjurationist with only one working eye... Basic stuff."

A brief silence. "I did not mean for that to happen." His voice was toneless.

Imoen didn't answer except to nod, still absorbed in forcing back the dream's unsettling sensations. Then Edwin sat upon on the edge of the cot, and she looked up at him in startlement.

"Move over," he muttered tiredly.

"What?" she wondered, scooting dazedly towards the wall.

The conjurer didn't explain, lifting up her blankets and slipping underneath. There were dark circles under his eyes. He hadn't been sleeping either; and that must have _meant_ something.

Words failed her. She lifted her knee a few inches as limbs overlapped in a disorderly tangle. The cot space was miserly. One of her arms was squashed; The other ended up flopped unceremoniously across his side. She was asleep again almost before he'd finished situating himself; with the weight of his forearm across her ribs, and her face smothered into his collar.

...

* * *

[Author's Note]

I'm starting to warm up to Eldoth ;) And Xzar talking to Eldoth, particularly!

The poem is Love Sonnet XVI, by Pablo Neruda. Because Xzar can totally quote surrealist poetry which was written in green ink by a man who frequently writes about women as bread/fruit/something to be eaten ;)

Hearts and minds, Ajantis. Hearts and minds.

Successfully sharing a couch or single bed with another person is truly an art form!


	20. Ruminating

_**Ruminating**_

* * *

_"You did this! It is your own fault! All of you- all of you pathetic wretches! Was my power not obvious enough to you; was it not clear how we'd slaughter you fools if you spited me!? But you picked her! Always her! Everything would have been different, but always you believed that fucking witch!"_

_Aegis stared down at the conjurer, at the corner he'd been backed into. His arms and face were bloody and cut from where he'd barely survived the knife fight. There were dark circles in his reddened eyes, and his voice was raw from either screams or sobs; it wasn't clear which. She had no pity. A cold, quiet, undisturbed lake of hatred had settled down into the caverns of her body. She belted the last of her throwing axes, and drew out her waraxe. People were dead. People were dead, but all she could think of was-_

_"This isn't the end! I can't be beaten by you fools- I am the scion of the tharch of Surthay, and my-"_

_"Imoen," she told him._

_"She is MINE! My student, my prize, my property! I would have waited until she was ready to leave- I would have helped you in your quest!- but you fools, you pathetic, imbecilic simians-!"_

_"You abducted her. You hurt her," Aegis intoned._

_"She just kept talking!" the conjurer shrieked, enraged, at the very top of his voice. Then, as if spooked by the sound of himself, he leaned back into the cliff. His face was drained of color, and his lips trembled._

_"__She was covered in burns, scrapes, and bruises. She wouldn't even lift her head to look at us."_

_"Sh-sh-he deserved to be put in her place for-!"_

_"Did you rape my sister? __His voice cut off. He stood there, hemmed up against the cliff face, quivering, his lips parted; and he stared at her, and through her, with a fevered look in his eyes. A small, inarticulate mumble leaked from his lips._

_That was when Aegis realized he had simply gone mad. Whatever ideas had crawled into his head, whatever godforsaken impulse had driven him to abuse Imoen, swallowing it had voided his sanity. Faced with the choice of denying twenty-seven years of well-honed ambition, or surrendering the adoration of his thief, he had chosen neither and lost more than both._

_This, then, was the worst part- the saddest part- the part she was suddenly glad Imoen did not have to see: Deep down in some primitive part of himself, Edwin must have actually known what an unforgivable sin he'd committed. He must have once valued as sacred the thing he'd destroyed. He must have treasured her._

_"Th-this isn't about her- this is about you fools and your decision to trust that Rashemi whore-"_

_Aegis strode forward. The conjurer's screams of indignation grew more violent, more inarticulate, more disjointed. His voice grew louder and his accusations grew faster, as fire spit down the length of his arms. She lifted her axe. He lunged at her, his fingers burning. She backhanded him wither her mailed fist, with a crack that dislodged teeth. He hit the cliff face, his concentration lost, and stumbled to his knees. He looked at his hands, past dazed wits and a bloody nose as she pursued him._

_The feeling of her hand on his collar shocked him back into awareness. He scrabbled for purchase on her bracers as she hauled him off the ground._

_"W-wait! WAIT!" he screamed in protest._

_Aegis eyed him, her axe already aloft. The wizard took in several rapid, shaky breaths. His gaze was unfocused, and it was clear he could not really see. When he blinked next, tears came, leaking down his cheeks._

_T-tell her- Tell her that I'm s-_sorry_," he sputtered in a messy crackle, as phlegm built up in his throat.__ "I didn't m-mean to- I never should have- P-please. P-please tell her I-"_

_"No."_

_His eyes widened._

_"I won't compound her suffering, or her grief, with your incredibly tardy and useless self-hatred."_

_"Please..." __He whispered the entreaty, as if he truly believed all that mattered now of anything was that Imoen Winthrop hear his apology, his regret, his admission._

_"You had every opportunity to protect her, Edwin Odesseiron. And, for the choice you made, I deny you the right to any absolution from her. For her, and not for any of the others you've hurt. You will die; Both physically, and in her memory- permanently- so that she can move on with life. _

_"D-don-t keep-! P-pl-!" he whimpered._

_"And here your corpse will rot, untended, stripped clean by ants, forgotten. You have no one left to save you, and you have only yourself to blame."_

_The axe lifted._

_He cried out her sister's name in anguish, just before Death claimed him._

_The diagonal sweep of her axe took out the bridge of his nose and one eye as it crushed deep into the skull; It snapped his neck, shattered bone and sent gray matter out in spurts down the back and side of his cloak. She dropped him, and she beheaded him, and then she took the head and burnt it in the camp inferno._

_It was over._

...

* * *

Aegis woke with a short, hard gasp of air, and propped herself rapidly up on her elbows. Then Xzar's sleepy mumble drew her back to the present, and back to bed. She sank back into the linens, sighing out a tide of unnecessary adrenaline.

"Whassit?" her half unconscious wizard asked.

"Eh. Dreaming about killing people," Aegis mumbled.

"Well that's _nice_..." her necromancer mumbled airly, in a tone of voice which suggested (even for him) that he was mostly asleep and had no idea what she or he'd just said.

Aegis shot him an amused look. Somehow Xzar's accidental, sleep-approval of murder was significantly funnier than the intentional, real and waking version.

She tugged him just a little closer, so that his back was flush against her belly and chest again, and enjoyed the comforting shape of him against her. He hummed contently, and blindly fetched one of her arms to pull it back over him as a blanket against the cold. She kissed the top of his head, and then settled in to try and fall back to sleep.

...

* * *

_How do you know which way we are traveling? _Silence. _Are we following a path? _Grunt. _This doesn't look familiar. _Grunt. _Don't we have to cross anyway? What's wrong with here? _Silence. _Any reason we are sloshing through mud instead of walking over there where it is dry? _Grunt. _Will this rain ever let up? _Grunt. _Do not hit things out of my hand! _Glare. _What? Is something wrong with this water? _Glare._ Rul'selozan, waele, myar rilang... _Significantly angrier glare. _It's late. We've been up long. _Grunt. _Are we going to rest? _Grunt.

It was blessedly late into a dark and moonless evening when Kivan seemed to decide it was time to stop walking. He paused beside a tightly clustered stand of trees and moss-covered stones. Viconia drew her cloak tightly around herself, and wagered that her vision was currently much better than his. He threw a hand gesture at her that she supposed meant 'wait here,' and then he swiftly disappeared into the brush.

Viconia scowled after him, and then tried not to give into the paranoia of being hunted or else abandoned in the forest. Drow had an advanced gesture language which could be 'spoken' entirely with one hand. The objective of the language was to be concise and accurate while sneaking about with a weapon in hand. Kivan probably would have liked that: the ability to talk only using his hands. Sadly, anything drow-themed was likely to fall poorly upon his delicate elfin sensibilities. A pity, that; it might have improved his talkativeness.

The drowess' frustration grew the longer she was forced to stand out alone in the rain without explanation.

Then the elf returned just as swiftly as he'd gone, carrying freshly cut pine branches and a bundle of sticks.

"What are you doing?" she asked, frowning at him as he began scuffing around in the leaves and dirt. She received silence in answer. "You _do_ recall that your throat has been repaired, yes?"

Grunt.

Viconia stared at him bitterly for a moment, her fists clenching at her sides. Her cheek twitched. "Kivan," she growled at last. "You _must_ realize I do not ask questions idly, or for the sake of filling the air with chatter."

The wild elf snorted as if he disagreed. "You seem to ask a lot of them, then."

"Because I seldom understand what we are doing!" she snapped angrily. "If I wish for any sense of orientation, I_ must_ resort to questions!"

"You could actually start paying attention," he countered

An indignant exclaimation leaked from her. "Do you honestly fail to realize I cannot possibly guess what you are thinking!?"

"If you cannot guess what _I _am thinking, then it is only because you haven't a quiet mind," he retorted gruffly. "Always ruminating, spinning webs, and constructing overly complex and self-centered ideas."

"You say that as if understanding surfacers should come naturally to me! It does not, so what recourse is left to me but to seek explanations?"

"How do you determine what foot to lead with when you walk? Some things are unfit for 'explanation.'"

Viconia ground her teeth for a moment, glaring at the ground. Then she looked up at the wild elf with a patience born of epiphany. "Kivan, when I ask you questions, I am admitting to _ignorance_," she told him slowly and carefully, measuring each word. "Ignorance of how surfacers ought to think, feel, and interact. Admitting that, given my upbringing, is not _trivial_ for me. In fact, the only reason I am comfortable with questioning _you_ is because you seem to be our only party member disinclined to gossip."

The wild elf paused in his activity and did not immediately retort, seeming to weigh her words with considerably more care. Viconia waited hopefully.

He formed his conclusion, and went back to fiddling with his pine sticks and branches. "You will always be ignorant, drow."

Viconia slumped in annoyance. _Pathetic, monodimensional, simple male. So much for progress. _She rolled her eyes and looked around irritably at nothing.

"Empathy cannot be taught," the elf continued, "and I have little interest in helping you falsify it."

"So sure you are of everything, darthiir," she muttered.

Kivan glanced back at her. "Most people would describe me as neither particularly approachable, nor good with explaining things."

Viconia looked back at him quickly, surprised. Only then did it occur to her that Kivan had continued to explain himself verbally even after the initial query had been addressed. Perhaps it was informative that he kept talking to her? Perhaps his sharp retort had been out of habit, and not because she had failed to make an impact?

She took in a slow breath, and then tilted her head to the side. "Oh... I don't know about that. Once one moves past the clench-jawed death-threats phase, everything else you do seems _delightfully _friendly by comparison."

There: A ghost of a smirk!

"Watch it, Viconia."

The drow took a deep, triumphant breath, and tried not to let it show how _much_ this exchange had pleased her. "Well, if you will not explain _what_ you are doing, I suppose I can ask if you need anything?"

"Sturdy, straight sticks." And from that, she surmised they must be building a small shelter for the remaining evening hours.

...

* * *

The storm hit at around two in the morning. It came in a thick, gray, freezing rain, with gushes of sleet and a few thunderous patches of hail. It was a far cry from the quiet, miserable sprinkling of the day before. The darkness and white noise had most probably kept the entire party asleep well past dawn.

Which was good, Aegis thought as she pushed herself up off the bed, as it meant they were resting properly. She yawned, and stretched, and then chafed her naked arms as she listened to the downpour.

Days like these reminded her of home, and of being stuck inside with the monks all day. Many of those days, she'd spent curled up next to Imoen in a seldom-used tower, reading history books as the thief inspected purloined scrolls. Home. She missed home, with its people and its smell of paper and dust. That was new, especially given how much she liked to be _outside_, and how little she'd cared to write any letters.

Aegis rested her forearms on her knees and looked over at where Xzar was curled up with Pretzels. She tilted her head to the side, and then reached over to pet his messy hair.

If they struck together, she and her necromancer were going to have a very difficult time picking out where 'home' ought to be. Well, those were problems for another year. Briefly, she had a vision of an ominous black tower in the woods somewhere, covered in skull motifs, with a massive interior library and surrounded by a legion of happy, frolicking animals. And a pub; it would have to have a pub. Or perhaps a portal to someone else's pub would suffice?

Aegis grinned to herself, petting gently over her sleeping partner.

_Gods, but you are cute when you're asleep. Maybe just to me. Maybe because I'm a little morbid and I can overlook everything wrong with you. Hells, I think I even have to accept the fact that the whole 'clerical' thing played into how we first ended up attracted to each other. But I can't help it: I trust you, and I need you, and it already feels like you've been with me forever. I know how much you struggle, but I see how selflessly you try. Stick with me, frazzled Fool._

Xzar took in a slow breath and mumbled out a happy, wistful, "I cannot feel my right leg..."

"That is because you managed to get it up onto my shoulder, mid-coitus," she speculated. "Which, I'll have you know, was the highlight of my month. I was pretty sure most _people_ couldn't do that, much less thirty-odd year old wizards who have spent far too many moons constrained in a cell..."

He sighed blissfully. "I think that means I shall need to start stretching in the mornings..."

She rubbed his shoulder and leaned over, placing a firm kiss into his graham hair. "I love you, wizard. And I forgive you." He opened his eyes at that and lifted his head slightly, so she kissed his brow, too. "Sleep yourself out, okay?"

"Okay." He hugged his kitten.

She stood with another big yawn, and set about to determining where all her clothing had gotten to.

"Aegis?" Xzar called softly, already halfway back to sleep again. She hummed to confirm she was listening. "__Bima ta iuskhtai, Aegis minia..."__

...

* * *

Aegis dressed herself and headed downstairs. What she found there was a phenomena she had seen but once before in all her twenty years: Imoen was already awake. The ranger paused at the top of the staircase.

Imoen and Edwin were curled up comfortably together over a number of books and pieces of parchment. Their voices were low. The two occupied a booth against the wall, where Imoen had cracked open a window.

Imoen liked that, Aegis knew: a light breeze and the ambient sound of rain, even when it was cold. If there had been any argument between Red and Pink over whether or not people really needed fresh air with winter on the horizon, then the situation had been thoroughly resolved through the judicious application of a good quilt and two mugs of steaming coffee.

Edwin's spellbook was open between them for the thief's reference. Imoen had leaned into him (that girl would have snuggled with anyone), but Edwin's posture suggested either tolerance or perhaps even passive reciprocation of the physical contact.

Their context always said a great deal about them, subtly, without words; They were always talking, touching, and sharing things. A psychotic Red Wizard nobleman and a goofy pink thief out of Candlekeep... They were certainly an unlikely duo.

Aegis rested her forearms against the railing, studying them for a moment. Her gaze slid reflectively from one to the other, and her mouth quirked horizontally in an expression that felt half-smile and half-frown.

_You two are in love._

Aegis looked down at her hands, thinking of Xzar and of Montaron. The ranger's thoughts drifted back to Nashkel mine, and the time when she'd once threatened to kill Jaheira. Then her eyes flicked back up to Imoen Winthrop.

_I know that you don't need or want my protection. I know. What you need of me is to be ready to stop a disaster in case things go wrong. And what you want is help in keeping him out of trouble. But that's a tall order, baby sister, because it's natural for me to try and keep you safe; and he's _Edwin_._

_And yet he came back. And I don't think I actually hate him._ Aegis chafed her fingers together._ Watching him puzzle over your emotions like foreign artifacts, trying to learn them; there's something familiar in that. I'd wager most people presume empathy comes naturally. _

The ranger was quiet a long moment. Then she took in a slow breath through her nose, straightening her back and pulling her shoulders back as her hands drifted down to her sides. She frowned contemplatively, and then shook her head.

_You mean the world to him, Imms._

She headed downstairs to get her breakfast.

...

* * *

Tallix peered tentatively outside of the tent. It was dark enough to hide the dawning sun entirely. The storm had hit at around two in the morning. It came in a thick, gray, freezing rain, with gushes of sleet and a few thunderous patches of hail. It was a far cry from the quiet, miserable sprinkling of the day before. Well. There was no star, moon, or sun to see by; but soon it wouldn't matter. They were headed underground. Hopefully, Gorion still remembered how to use infravision.

Tallix looked back down at the slumbering monk, noting that the poor man looked absolutely pooped. Like as not, he hadn't been sleeping properly since his resurrection. She pet gently over his feathered hair for a moment. He was still a handsome bird, for all the years and stress he'd gathered. She slipped her fingers gently down the back of his robes, feeling over his skin. There was no unusual texture to the silvery burst of pigment which marked where his ancestors had sported wings. Across the left one, however, she found the rough scar which marked where he had been skewered.

Her fingers tingled slightly as she appraised the lethal injury. She smoothed her palm flat against his skin, and felt his steady heartbeat through the back of his ribs.

If Elminster hadn't already been on the road that day-

-Something smelled rotten on that count, of course, but she doubted it was the archmagus himself. Tallix wouldn't have put it past Elminster to use dirty tricks in an effort to get his way, and from what she'd heard, the archwizard could be an emotionally oblivious primadonna at times; but murdering Gorion to get to Aegis seemed unlikely, and Elminster had owed Gorion a rather sizeable favor. No, much more likely was that Mystra's mischievous man-child had made some kind of mistake, and then tried his darndest to fix it before anyone noticed. Wizards: Earth-shatteringly brilliant, and awe-inspiringly stupid.

But if he _hadn't_ been there...

Tallix frowned. She'd almost missed out on the chance to ever tell him about little Calderan, and his sisters, and the novelty of halfling knights. By the time she'd investigated his lack of reply letters, there would have been nothing she could have done to remedy the situation, either. Aasimars were notoriously tricky to revive. Not that Tallix knew much about bringing people back from the dead; she was typically sending folk in the other direction.

_One person in all the Realms coulda gotten me ta crawl out of me cozy hole in Luiren, much less this year or the next._

Gorion drew in a waking breath, and Tallix withdrew her hand like the wind. Eerily piercing, blue eyes fluttered open. The halfling smirked. "Hey there, pretty wizard. Time fer waking."

He was quiet a moment, peering up through the gloom. "I-I feel sluggish," he said abruptly, looking off at nothing, and his voice quavered. Tallix raised a brow. "Reluctant. Shaken. Distracted. I don't want to move and yet I feel useless. I-I keep thinking about-"

"About whether Ae's safe," she finished, with an understanding chuckle. "Ye, ever think ye might be a little 'codependent' on yer baby girl, Ri? I know I am, a bit, with Anaxa. She wasn't an easy child, but I'd wager I love her even more for it. Maybe even a little _too_ much."

Gorion looked back up at her.

Tallix lifted a hand to rub at the back of her neck, and looked fondly out at nothing. "She's twenty-three, and I'll get on her case fer the _stupidest_ things. When I stop and listen to myself, I know I sound a little crazy. I'da never put up with me own mum bein like that: worryin' about and trying to control each and every little thing." She smiled to show her teeth, and lowered her eyes. "Parenting's hard. But lettin go once they start learnin ta fly: that's harder I think. Especially knowin they're gonna make mistakes, and it's no longer yer right ta stop em."

...

* * *

"Has anyone seen Branwen?" Aegis asked once Shar-Teel had joined them at last. The fightress usually marked the tail end of the party during morning wakeup call. She looked particularly grouchy this morning, and Aegis took a moment to grasp her shoulder. Shar-Teel glanced at her irritably, mellowed out a little at her expression, and then shrugged her off.

"No," Jaheira realized after a brief mental inventory. "I don't think I have."

"Come to think of it," Imoen piped up as she placed a book upon her own head in the hopes the knowledge would sink in while she ate elevenses, "did anyone see her at dinner?" Edwin shot her a bemused look and then deftly rescued the book before it ended up experiencing some terrible misfortune, like being dunked in hot coffee.

Aegis, Shar-Teel, and Ajantis all looked up simultaneously and then shared a quick look of concern. They looked to Imoen, who perked up in alarm. For Branwen to miss a single meal was unheard of; for her to miss _two_ suggested the cleric was dead.

Khalid cleared his throat. "S-speaking of Branwen," he called, nodding towards the top of the staircase.

Their Norheimer had at last reappeared! And as she tromped down into the tavern common room, they realized she looked liked she'd been attacked by a bear. Her hair was disheveled, she had a sleepless look about her eyes, her clothing was in disarray, and she had a vacant expression on her face. By the look of her, she had dragged on a minimal amount of clothing just to get downstairs, and she wasn't wearing a chemise under her tunic.

Imoen straightened. Xzar paused over a spoonful of fish broth he'd been halfway finished slurping. Share-Teel demanded: "What the hell happened to you?"

"Branwen?" Aegis called in confusion, waving the cleric over and ordering her a very large breakfast. The Norheimer looked at her dumbly a moment and then shuffled over to the table where the other women gaped at her in confusion. She sat down beside Shar-Teel with a heavy plop, and for a moment she did not do or say anything else.

The party was quiet for a moment. The barmaid brought up a large plate of ham, sausage, eggs, and grits and settled the heaping feast before Branwen, who looked down at the food as if she wasn't even sure what to do with it.

"Is she sick?" Ajantis asked, baffled.

"She got _laid_," Shar-Teel disagreed, her nose wrinkling at the smell of musk as she inspected the woman beside her. "By _what_?"

"Wait, really?" Imoen blurted, getting worried. "Gah, you're right! I would recognize sex hair anywhere! Who caused this much excitement!? You didn't-?"

Xzar's gaze flit from woman to woman. Then he looked up at Aegis, mutely querying whether he'd accidentally gone _crazy again _while he wasn't looking, or if the onus really was on everyone _else_ this time. The ranger frowned curiously and mouthed to confirm his sanity: 'Xan _is_ missing.'

"Well was it the Rashemi?" Shar-Teel demanded. "An orc, an ogre, a rampaging dragon!? Well, don't leave us hanging!"

Edwin elbowed Imoen and jerked his chin back at the staircase.

Xan was coming down to join them, his hair loose and draped over one shoulder as he finished up brushing it. "Good morning, everyone!" he called to them with a cheerful smile.

If the party had gaped at Branwen, there were no words to describe the augmented level of gaping that they turned towards Xan. apparently oblivious to them, the Moon Elf pocketed his brush and glided elegantly away to order his own breakfast. After he had parted, a long moment passed in wordless astonishment. Then Edwin managed to give voice to the incomprehensible detail which had jammed up everyone else's minds:

"He was humming."

Imoen straightened. Then a grin split wide across her face, and she nearly exploded into rainbows. Xzar looked about ready to do likewise (although unnaturally wide smiles were already sort of his thing, and surely his rainbows would have been marred by skull motifs or some such).

"No way," Shar-Teel breathed, twisting about to look at their Norheim cleric. "You got the frigid he-bitch to roll over? _That's_ what laid you?" the fightress was clearly confused; the evidence did not seem to match the alleged perpetrator! "_The pipsqueak elf mage_?"

Branwen seemed to come awake at this. "I'm not going to tell any of you anything," she told them. "And if I hear one more thing from you, Shar-Teel, I'm going to punch your teeth out."

The fightress gaped at her.

"Well _I'm_ going to bake both of you pumpkin rolls in celebration!" Imoen informed Branwen with a ecstatic squeal, as she danced in her seat. "Oh gods, so cyuuuutteee! Aeei! I'm wiggly with happiness!"

Branwen thought that this was a _much_ more appropriate reaction, gave Imoen a thumbs-up, and then picked up a fork and set to stabbing up her breakfast. Edwin disagreed, and leaned back a few degrees from his flailing thief.

When Xan returned, he elected to sit with Branwen. Before doing so, he leaned over and held his plate to the side that he might kiss her cheek. He was wearing a confident and joyful smile, and it seemed set to linger for hours. Branwen pulled his chair closer to her. He obliged her and sat in it.

Shar-Teel made to say something. Branwen slammed her drink down. The fightress went quiet. Branwen glared the fightress down and then shot a look at every other person at the table (Particularly Edwin, since Viconia was missing). She made the situation very clear with naught but her eyes: If anyone took a shot at Xan and ruined his mood, she was going to kill them with her bare hands. And Tempus.

"Eeeee! So cute, so cute, so _cyyyuuutee_!" Imoen nearly died from profuse gushing of happiness, and she darted under her table, past an indignant Red Wizard's boots, and hopped up just in time to hug-tackle Xan clear into Branwen. "Best! story! ever!" Xan broke out laughing, a blush on his cheeks. He really had nothing to say, so he settled for hugging Imoen and enjoying the rarity of the moment.

Khalid, for all that no one noticed him, looked as if he had just won at life that morning.

...

* * *

When Edwin felt his familiar approaching Beregost, he was glad for the excuse to leave the inn's stiflingly happy atmosphere. He headed outside to wait for the creature.

The air was bitter and although his new clothing took off the edge of the chill, Edwin begrudgingly admitted he'd most likely need another layer of clothing. Perhaps heavier robes would suffice, worn under the silk. He'd surely need his sleeves to be warmer, so he had some means of heating up his fingers...

Jackal appeared a few minutes later, and Edwin lifted up an arm for the infernal bat to alight on. Jackal did so, flapping his wings to stop his forward momentum. He had a replacement manilla scroll tucked into his carrying satchel.

"Well?" Edwin asked it, transferring the familiar to his shoulder and extracting the scroll.

_He is asking for more information, _Jackal explained with a sigh, already anticipating another unpleasantly long flight back to Thay.

Edwin eyed the creature. "Information you were somehow unable to give?" he asked, unraveling the scroll.

_You know he has no interest in talking to me, _the devil-bat replied. _Besides; how else would you feel the long, awkward pause of his mild disapproval?_

Edwin rolled his eyes as he inspected Homen's message. Jackal was clearly spending too much time associating with Imoen, and needed to be dismissed back to the Hells that he might regain mannerisms more appropriate from his outsider blood. "Fine, then, I shall take the time to engineer my reply," the Red Wizard muttered. "One swallows one's pride in asking an older relative for help... First, however, something of more immediate importance has come to my attention."

_What could be more important than-?_

The wizard produced a sealed scroll and a bag of precious stones equating to a tidy gold sum, "You are to go with haste to this address in Athkatla. Ensure the transaction takes place, exactly as specified. Then you are to return directly to me, without detours of any kind."

_Might I first visit with The Watermelon Goddess?_ the little devil complained, nosing the scroll. He has been hoping for a day's rest and some shaved fruit as a reward for all his hard labor, though obviously not from Edwin...

"Absolutely not. She mustn't suspicion me, not at so precise a moment." He tucked the scroll and purse into Jackal's satchel. "On that note, you will also immediately cease being 'clever' in coming up with vulgar nicknames for my_ apprentice_."

_Vulgar? You are lucky I am a devil and have aesthetic sensibilities. Imagine if I were a demon and referring to her as Fruit Tits. How would you cope?_

Edwin scowled, transferring the bat out to an arm again. "Do not disappoint me. Exactly as specified!"

...

* * *

"Aegis," Jaheira called when the party had settled down a little. "Have you decided what we will do next?"

"I have," the ranger agreed. "And to celebrate of the fact that we made it through our first night without any major disasters, I'd like to share it with the group. First of all, I know everyone is very concerned about whether we can head out in time to beat the first snows. I've given it some thought and my conclusion is that we _won't_. We won't, because it is _significantly_ less safe for us to rush into that fight than it is for us to accept the coming winter and deal with it."

"You intend to plan for the worst then, instead of trying to skirt it with timing," Xan noted. "But recall that we are giving an enemy wizard more time to prepare if we tarry."

"I don't care about him; I care about us," Aegis explained. "This group is immensely talented but prone to heavy infighting, and at least half of us are under some tremendous form of personal stress. Not to mention that we had to sacrifice looting the bandit camp to tend to our wounded, and our gear and healing expenditures were high. We need to relax. We need to make a little bit of money. And we will go into Cloakwood when we are good and ready, as a team. Everyone?"

"Done," Jaheira confirmed the plan was as sound as anyway. "Let's keep on the same page and not bicker further, so we can bend our minds to preparing for the difficulties we'll face."

Xan nodded. "I concur. Planning for a worst case scenario tends to be what I do _anyway_."

Shar-Teel chuckled blackly, and said nothing.

"Right then," Aegis nodded. "We're going to take a week break to wait for the Fist to clear Viconia's name and see if Dynaheir returns. I want everyone to _please_ spend some time pampering themselves. We just went through one _hell_ of a fight and we all need to partake of good alcohol, hot baths, and fluffy beds for a few nights."

Edwin, who was just coming back to his seat, had a moment of intensely dissonant deja vu. His thought of Red Wizards, his skin prickled, and he glanced sharply over at where Imoen was braiding Xan's hair. For some reason, the sight of her walled off a tide of vertigo.

"Anyone who's restless by the third or fourth day," Aegis glanced at Shar-Teel, "can group up on one of a few quick odd jobs to make funds for the party. And while we're resting, I want everyone to make sure they are properly kit for the change of seasons.

"That means multiple layers so you can dress down or up depending on conditions. Autumn might hold on a few more weeks and land us in a late, muggy heat wave. On the extreme opposite end, Umberlee could have us trudging knee-deep through snow drifts and then drop a surprise flash-flood on us just as soon as the earth's frozen. Everyone's boots are to be waterproof, insulated, and wrapped above the knee.

"We're also headed into a heavily overgrown forest. Consider shorter cloaks or coats, and scarves and other fabrics which won't snag. Wizards? Please do me an immense favor, and have someone hem up your robes, at least to the knees. Or consider a change in clothing, based on our destination.

"I also think we need to look into purchasing proper tents, although for that I think I'll need to turn to Jaheira's expertise... I am open to schemes, plans, reminders, gear requests, frost-bite remedies, and any other 'must-have' wintry adventure-time items. If anyone has any ideas, please bring them up to me. Imoen? You look like you're bouncing in your seat."

"Welll..." the pink girl wiggled excitedly, thinking of all the ways she could use a properly sorted Bag of Holding to the group's advantage. "I've been thinking about camouflage... And I think I might be able to smuggle along two sets of combat cloaks, in autumn colors and in white!"

Jaheira grunted. "I shall attend to these 'frost-bite remedies' I have heard mentioned."

"Perhaps I shall sit here minding my own business," Xzar decided quietly. "The Weather and I never did quite learn to understand one another, anyway, and I suspect the party would be happy if I did nothing particularly _exciting_ for a few days..."

Xan glanced at him but nodded. "I will try again to see if I can contact Dynaheir.

"Snow shoes," Shar-Teel growled.

"What?" Branwen inquired, never having heard of such a thing.

" 'Snow shoes.' Bitch to walk wilderness trails in a hilly area during winter without em."

"Skis," Xan realized, introducing yet another term that Branwen did not recognize.

"Whatever," Shar-Teel snarled impatiently, "shoes for snow!"

"You know, I've never seen snow," Ajantis remarked a little nervously.

Shar-Teel twisted about in her seat and fixed the paladin with a baffled look. Then she burst out laughing right in his face, and Ajantis knew she'd just found a whole new topic for 'teasing' him on.

...

* * *

"Hey, Xzar?" Imoen inquired, approaching the necromancer as everyone began to move and begin their day.

Xzar turned to her in surprise. "Ah? Attentive."

"I have a question to pose to you. You know that spell you used to turn letters into pigeons and send them to Aegis?"

"Well if I didn't it, would have been very difficult for me to cast it," Xzar decided thoughtfully. "Did you like them? The first time I researched the spell, I didn't focus on the appearance the birds would take. Then when I cast it, they manifested as bright, white doves. Doves! They were _absolutely_ and despicably hilarious. They terrified my peers, you know._ Terrified_."

"Er, right. Well." She scuffed her feet. "Would you be willing to make a scroll of it, um, for me to study?"

"I _could_, though it requires a knowledge of divination I'm afraid your current mentor will be unable to teach you; and it is no small spell." The necromancer considered her query. "Might I ask what you wanted it for, sister?"

_Sister?_ Imoen took a moment to consider how she felt about the occupational hazards associated with being 'Xzar's sister.' _It would certainly be a creepy, crawly, and hair-raising occupation,_ she reasoned. _But perhaps not as bad as one might initially imagine._ As morbid and morally oblivious as Xzar might have been, there was something oddly amiable about the necromancer. Still, she knew better now than to ever _quite_ trust him. "Well," Imoen began her explanation a little hesitantly, "I thought I might try to contact Montaron.

Xzar stiffened and then smiled broadly. "Oh? Oh, oh, oh!" He clasped his hands together. "For that, I will _gladly_ cast it for you."

Imoen blinked. "I'm not sending anything horrible. Just a letter!"

"Oh I know, I know, trust me _well_ that I know! And I was there to see the effect of the last _letters_ you sent! An innocent and friendly overture, and it stabs at him worse than any barb! Ah, yes, the vestiges of guilt, inflicted on a mind more commonly given to sociopathy; oh they are a beautiful, ironic, sickeningly sweet torture! Truly there is nothing crueler I could do to him than ferry constant, tender reminders of his mistake!"

"Um..." Imoen hesitated.

"Come to me when you have readied your letter! I will cast it for you- I will not even ask to read it!" He cackled delightedly, clapping his hands.

"Thank you? I think?" Being Xzar's sister would probably involve a lot of these awkward conversations, Imoen resigned herself.

"Yes, yes, yes, but wait! Hmm, hmm, hmm." He tapped his lips. "Wait, tell me. Do you like riddles? Puzzles? Do you like cryptograms?"

"Um... s-sure..." Imoen did, after all, like puzzles.

"Can you do basic geometry and algebra?" he demanded, drawing shapes in the air.

"Yeesss...?" Who couldn't, after all? Aside from Aegis.

"Very good then! You asked for a scroll which you could not learn, and I could teach it to you, of course, but that is not the way the board has been set. Then I shall prepare a document instead, which might be educational on the matter of divination through difficult puzzle solving! Yes! Good! Sometimes, one can teach without speaking if an initial prompt sends the mind down proper avenues...!"

"Riiiighhhtt... Um, so, have I mentioned lately how over-the-top and incredibly _creepy_ you are, Xzar?"

The necromancer blinked at her in surprise, and then smiled. "Welll... You don't have to like me for _me_ to like _you_."

"I think it's entirely in your presentation," Imoen concluded distractedly. "Sometimes I'm totally okay with you from a distance, but then I end up talking to you and it's like your every vocal inflection or twist of body language has been improperly calibrated to be uncanny, unrealistic, and just-not-right."

Xzar stared at her for a moment. Then he docked his head to the side and considered this.

A moment passed in silence.

"That's incredibly informative," Xzar decided. "I suppose that's what happens when one is raised by a feline. I shall have to think on this! You are filled with surprisingly blunt and canny insights you know? Yes. Most refreshing, mmm. Well! Come back when you've your letter, dear, I have scribing to do. Hehehe! Ta-ta for now!" And with that, he flit off, leaving an utterly flummoxed Imoen staring after him.

"There are some days," Aegis whispered, leaning near her sister, "in which he vaguely reminds me of you."

"I could see that," Imoen admitted faintly. "In some bumfuzzled, widdershins, catercornered way, I could definitely see that."

...

* * *

Branwen headed up to see the results of Xan's scrying after she'd finished her extended brunch. His posture was healthier, and he looked calm even with the eerie whites of his eyes showing. She smiled slightly, marveling at him

_Tempus might will me to spend my life in battle, but loving you in the in-betweens... that's a joy I wouldn't miss out on for the world, wee man..._

The wizard blinked rapidly and steadied himself. He looked up at Branwen and then shook his head. "Unfortunately, it seems Dynaheir is either out of my range or else deliberately hiding herself. She doesn't want to be found, and she will not answer or even acknowledge my attempts to contact her."

"Seems she's pretty torn up," Branwen concluded. "She's not a wicked sort, Dynaheir. She must have acted in the heat of the moment, rather than out of malice."

"I believe that," Xan nodded, "though I do not know what I would say to her if she was here right now. I can sympathize with her actions on a practical level, because Imoen was openly taking Edwin's defense and there was every reason to believe he was dangerous. But on a personal level, I feel bitter.

"Well Imoen's always been sort of dear to you," Branwen reminded him, coming up to sit on the bed beside him. "And you don't actually know Dynaheir that well. You know Imoen much better, even if you two don't always see eye-to-eye."

There was some truth in that. Xan nodded, uncrossing his legs "Still, you are right: I do not believe her actions were spawned of hatred."

"She probably feels guilty then," Branwen noted, crossing her legs and then reaching over to stroke through his hair. "And conflicted, for the same reasons you do. Give her some time, you know? To center herself. Edwin brings out the ugly in people, and, if she plans to continue with the party while we've got him, she's gonna need to be grounded right and sturdy."

Xan shook his head. "I still cannot believe we've somehow recruited him _again_," the elf sighed. "Yet here I am, feel vaguely indebted to him for rescuing someone he himself kidnapped. Aegis has the patience of _mountains, _and a forgiveness amounting to oceans. In a woman who can enter enraged battle trances, and tear men limb from limb without batting an eyelash, I find that _bizarre_. And it isn't as if we haven't seen her execute a party member before..."

Branwen eyed him. "You think it's strange that death's a complicated topic for her?"

"...Point," her pale elf ceded.

"Well... I think she did the right thing then, but I don't think she sleeps well at night over it. You remember she broke down crying? Ae's a strange sort, Xan; ruthless and focused when a task's at hand, but always turning her gaze _inside _once things quiet down. Suppose it's obvious she was raised by a learned man, then. She ruminates a lot."

"I would have liked to have met this Gorion," Xan agreed thoughtfully. "He seemed to have a plan." Then he looked up at Branwen, and a smile tugged back over his mouth. "You have been touching my hair and the tip of my ear for a bit now. Is there something you'd like to bring to my attention?"

"Well..." Branwen confessed, "Now that you mention it, I _could_ use some of those smoldering kisses."

"Smoldering? Simmering, perhaps, scarcely noticeable, barely worth commenting on, hardly worth mentioning!" Her fingers graced his temples and traced out along his ears. He shivered and grinned to himself, at once turning onto his knees and gathering up the hem of his robes. "_Smoldering_," he sighed, and then he promptly traddled her lap, rested his forearms on her shoulders, and kissed her for all he was worth. Her arms snaked up excitedly around his thighs and slender hips, and she squeezed him close.

The kisses were quite a notch above simmering. They most probably outstripped smoldering, too.

Branwen tugged at him to get him to settle into her lap. After a few moments he acquiesced, and his legs wrapped naturally about her waist. Then he chuckled between kisses, and had to turn his head briefly aside. At her curious expression, he shrugged helplessly.

"I am used to being taller," he confessed.

"You? Taller than what? A wee mouse?"

His eyes shuttered and he gave an almost sassy grin that looked so natural and yet so strange upon his face. It made him seem youthful; it strengthened and empowered everything about him. He tilted his brow to hers. "Many elf women are shorter than me, I assure you Meldonin. And those who are not, are not_ so_ much taller."

"Kivan's my height," she argued, "and _much_ taller than you."

"Kivan is a Wild Elf!" Xan protested indignantly, "which is very different!"

"I need to meet these tiny women and feed them better," Branwen retorted. "How many ladies have you done this with, then?"

"I... This may not be the best time for such discussions," the enchanter suggested somewhat bashfully, a pink creeping up along his porcelain-colored skin. "Perhaps after a week or so, and over breakfast as opposed to while we are being intimate?"

"Well fair enough," she agreed, and then decided to be a little brave with him. "Are we being intimate then?"

"_Absolutely_, Meldonin," he told her, but then made to stand. "Just let me fetch a bottle of aromatic oil first."

"Ah? A massage sounds nice," she admitted, watching as he left the bed. She had a few kinks...

"Of _course_," he winked conspiratorially back at her, and then flit over to obtain the oil from their bath. Branwen felt her throat go dry. "And it's useful for other things, too," he mused blithely from behind the bathing screen.

Xan's imagination, she had learned, was much better than hers.

...

* * *

Kivan frowned at the waves of ash at his feet. From what Viconia could see, someone had been there recently. A patch of dark earth was visible, and there was a single set of human footprints disturbing the endless gray. Alone, these details might have escaped her; but the sheer quantity of _staring _which Kivan bestowed upon the scene suggested that something quite relevant had happened here. The seconds stretched by into minutes.

"Kivan?" she asked, still tired and privately resentful of her mind's inability to fall into trance.

"The body is gone," he reported in monotone.

"Whose body?" She frowned and then wondered aloud, "Tazok's?"

Kivan nodded.

"Then... we ought to follow where it's gone to, no?" she queried.

"The footprints lead in, but not out again."

Viconia considered this. "What does that mean?"

"Magic."

Viconia fell silent. She recalled that Tazok had apparently been under the employment of some mercantile organization, and considered that his backers might have had the resources to let him cheat death. She'd never seen the half-ogre, but he must have been more than a unit of brute strength if someone would go through so much trouble as to revive him. Unless, perhaps, his body had been reappropriated for necromantic arts?

"His sword is gone, too."

Viconia looked over at Kivan, surprised that he was still talking.

"Is it possible?" She was the only cleric at hand, and she was the only one with sufficient knowledge to answer him.

"It is possible," she replied. "Xan might be able to learn more if we can find a bit of the brute's hair or a personal item."

Kivan nodded and stooped to sift through the ashes. It seemed he had needed some action to perform; something to jar his body into motion. Viconia kept watch over him. She didn't say it, because she was getting a feel for what things Kivan was and was not comfortable with hearing, but the words hung weighty between them all the same: _It seems you survived for a reason._

_..._

* * *

"I have a question," Edwin managed once he and Imoen were back at the tailors. A good hour of debate had convinced him to hem the robes rather than letting them risk further damage in the forest; and he'd confessed to needing another layer of robes. Imoen reasoned Edwin had probably never seen snow. She made a mental note to pelt him with a few snowballs, and to consider further the risks and rewards associated with slipping a handful of ice down the back of his robes if she ever got the opportunity.

"Fire away," she invited, perusing a number of stylish lady's hats.

He hesitated. "What would you have done, if my plan to turn against the party had been genuine?"

Imoen's brows screwed up in thought. "If you were successful, and if I didn't escape?"

"If we had destroyed the party; If were currently on our return journey to Thay." His voice was quiet, and it almost seemed as if he did not like asking.

"That's a lot of 'ifs,'" she told him. "Ordinarily, I'd say it would be pretty damn hard to tell you what I'd have done. But in this case, I have an answer for you. I'd ask you to give me three days to scream. To cry. To mourn my sister and everyone else you'd killed. Three days, and then I'd do whatever you asked me to. I'd voluntarily become your apprentice, if that's what you'd wanted."

He twisted about and looked at her. "What? That's all it would take? Three-?"

"Ah-ah-ah-ah!" she waved a finger. "I'm not done! Three days to scream. Then for the next three weeks I'd be completely silent, all while studying you and the other Thayvians to figure out how I'd need to behave when we got to Thay. It's not easy to learn an entire social system, you know, but I'd manage. I'm very observant.

"Over the next three months, I would help you kill off each and every one of your compatriots so that they appeared to be accidents. You'd save Diana for last- and she'd be driven psychotic with suspicion at the end.

"Once we reached Thay, I'd become your apprentice. I'd take three years- just three years- to learn absolutely everything you know about magic. And by the end of that time frame, I'd surpass you.

"Yes, I'd surpass you. Because that's what matters most to you: your talent, your pride, your ambition. So that's what I'd take from you- your ability to be the best. You think life's based on determinism, where the greatest rise and the weak fall. I'd prove that everything you've ever worked for, everything you've ever valued, everything you've ever strived to have, was all hollow.

"See, I'd take all of those things for myself, almost casually, and play with them like toys.

"And you would help me, every step of the way. First I'd make you resent me. Then I'd make you hate me. And then, I'd make sure you feared me.

"I'd spend the next three months simpering, slaying, murdering, manipulating and twisting the people above me; until through marriage and murder, or merit alone, I was appointed a Tharch. I'm supposed to be Mulani to hold that position, but I'd be able to fake it because deep down no one really cares, they just value power.

"For the next three years after that, I'd build an army of soldiers, spies, assassins, and even other wizards. I'd master enchantment and infernal contracts, and enslave men who were once my superiors and rivals, and used them against our 'mutual' enemies.

"Through cunning, through deceit, through pitting ambition against ambition, I would rise into a position of greater and greater power.

"And at the conclusion of those three years, I would launch a campaign and take Thay herself. In the mayhem, I would have you personally murder everyone you'd even remotely cared about, from your favorite mentors to your own father. And _you would do it_, because your survival depended on it.

"And for thirty years, I would sit on Thay's corpse, with her minds all at my disposal and her wizards under my thumb. I'd keep you as my seneschal so that you could see it all- every glorious moment of what I'd done- everything you'd never really have- everything you'd wanted- everything you'd made of me. For thirty years, I'd sit on a throne of vertebrae made from the bones of my enemies, each joined together through the spinal column by braided ropes of Thayvian Red cloth I'd taken, blood-splattered, from their corpses. I'd ring the backboard of it with skulls- skulls of all the Tharchions, Zulkirs, foreigners and military commanders who did not submit to me. One of them would of course be Surthay's, and you'd get to see it every day.

"I'd tell you three years before I planned to kill you, so that you could appreciate what was coming. Three years, and I'd let you try over and over and over again to flee. Three years I'd keep 'forgiving' you.

"And then my guards would come for you with their mage-binding shackles and a zone of silence; and they'd drag you off to a solitary black cell for three months. By the time I went to retrieve you, you would have been driven utterly mad with anticipation. I'd give you to my experts in torture regardless, and let them play with you for three weeks. I'd pick half-devils for the purpose; I'd still want you just _barely_ sane by the end.

"When they were done, I'd fetch you and mend you; and I'd leave you in a huddled mound at the foot of my throne, gazing into a pool of images, of possibilities: of everything you might have had in a thousand possible timelines, and everything you now never would.

"And after that, after three days of that, Edwin Odesseiron, I would finally permit you to die."

Her Red Wizard gaped openly at her, still mid-motion through picking up a piece of clothing.

Imoen grinned, winked, and then bounced off to see how the tailor was doing on those hems.

Edwin turned his head to continue staring at her. A long, loaded silence settled over the room.

{I... I do not know whether to clap, cry, wet myself, or become sexually aroused,} he admitted. He looked down at the garment he was holding, and then folded it neatly into quarters and set it back down upon its appropriate pile. He straightened the pile. Then he scowled at it. {Why am I thinking about Lasala?}

...

* * *

[Author's Note]

Sorry for how long this took, I have too many scenes in mind and honestly not enough space in which to put them...!


	21. They'll Have to Make Due

[Author's Note]

One thing about the Underdark is that it never feels that any supplement really comes even remotely close to filling out a sustainable ecology for the place. There is an incredibly tiny number of 'edible' species, a ridiculous number of top predators with nothing to hunt, and an odd lack of creatures who are just minding their own business occupying a sustainable food chain niche. Only when a novelist begins worldbuilding does it really feel like an underdark 'wilderness' begins to take shape.

Because Viconia ended up spending a very significant amount of time fending for herself in the Underdark, she likely became acquainted with a great amount of its flora and fauna whether she wanted to or not. It forces me to take some liberties in filling the Underdark with creatures. Just a heads up!

...

* * *

**They'll Have to Make Due**

...

* * *

Minsc was not happy.

The Rashemi had been away from the inn for most of the day, and from the smell of things, he had been out practicing swordsmanship against training dummies for hours. When he returned to the inn, his brow was furrowed, and he almost immediately went upstairs and flopped back into bed. Aegis followed to see if he was alright, and saw that he had already passed out.

Concerned, she asked Boo how he was doing. That was how she ended up having an hour-long conversation with a hamster over tea and dried nuts.

Minsc was simply overwhelmed by _thoughts_, Boo explained. And even before this latest incident, it had proven difficult for the ranger to sort out his romantic feelings towards Dynaheir from his sense of duty. Minsc, Aegis had to understand, was not Dynaheir's equal; neither mentally nor in the Rashemi social hierarchy. Dynaheir was a witch, which automatically placed her above every non-witch. It was therefore Minsc's obligation to serve and obey her.

What made the situation much worse was the miserly state of Minsc's mental health. He was often left with no recourse but to trust in his witch's wisdom and, even when he _knew_ she was wrong about something or risking self-harm, he didn't know how to question her.

Then the Wychlaran had _abandoned_ him without warning or explanation. The whole thing was, to be frank, mentally exhausting for the berserker. He could barely tell whether he ought to be more upset that his charge was missing or that his lady was.

For her part, Aegis had almost forgotten that Dynaheir and Minsc had ended up as lovers. The two had not doted on one another through Ulcaster, and then they'd been gone from the party, so she'd had few enough reminders. "I'm suddenly realizing how impressive it is that he hasn't attacked Edwin," Aegis murmured as she leaned over to refill her cup and Boo's teaspoon with fresh tea. "It's one hell of a task to forget that someone nearby has tried to murder your lover."

Boo thanked her, sighed, dunked his sunflower seeds in the tea, and nibbled on the morsels contemplatively.

Aegis mused. "Did you just say that _all_ witches are a social class above _all_ non-witches? Can Rashemi men be Wychlaran?"

Boo answered that, to his knowledge, they could not be.

"But... That means all witches, without exception, will never have a _spouse_ who is their equal?"

Boo confirmed that this seemed to be the case; and did Aegis have any more of those delightful peanuts?

Aegis supplied the requested peanut and winced incredulously at the confirmation. "Well _that_ sounds like a foundation for many a healthy relationship. Shar-Teel should consider resettling."

Boo chastised her to be nice, but thanked her for the peanut.

That was when Pretzels came trotting into the room to find Aegis. The cat saw the hamster, and the hamster saw the cat. Whiskers stopped moving. All eating ceased.

"Boo," Aegis cautioned the tiny rodent as an excited Pretzels crouched low to the ground, "do not move. And if she jumps at you, do not react."

Boo politely informed Aegis that it was difficult to argue with a thousand years of natural instinct, but that somehow Minsc had done so; and thus if the little stalking tigress took one step closer to him, Boo was going to gnaw her tiny mitts off.

...

* * *

The day was, in general, uneventful and somber. The stillness agitated Shar-Teel, who had already not been in a good mood on waking. Still, a few nudges from her party leader, a goal in sight, and yet another reminder of Ajatnis's 'naivety' seemed to have muffled the brunt of her pugnacious tendencies.

Ajantis and Khalid had ended up similarly engaged in checking over the party's arms and armor. Khalid had been a soldier once, and Ajantis was a knight, and it had been drilled into both men's heads that any serious engagement required a follow-up analysis and repair of one's gear. As the majority of their party members lacked this instinct, Aegis and Jaheira included, the two men eventually teamed up to ensure no leather strap, no metal rivet, and no brass buckle went uninspected.

They were in the process of gathering items that needed to brought to the smithy for repair, when Shar-Teel sauntered up and asked Ajantis to spar with her.

Ajantis thought to reply that he was already engaged in an important task, but the words died on his lips. He took one look at Shar-Teel, and recalled the violent and bloodthirsty way she'd glared and _twitched_ at him the night before, and then he politely excused himself from Khalid's company and went to hurry outside with the fightress.

Party stability took precedence over smaller tasks, he was learning. Regardless, Ajantis was quite convinced the sparring was dramatically improving both his swordplay and footwork.

Khalid watched them go and sat back to rest for a moment. Then he sighed, and looked over at where Jaheira was working, grinding up ingredients for warming draughts.

"Th-that w-woman's a loose cannon, I fear," he half-chuckled, though there was a tone of worry in his voice.

"He knows. Aegis knows. They're trying to keep her from causing any collateral," Jaheira agreed. "The pity's that he's attracted to her on some base level and she knows it now."

"W-why is that a 'p-pity'? Aside from the, er, u-unlikelihood of anything p-proceeding from it?"

"Sex will muddy the waters and escalate the volatility of any heated or uncertain situation. It raises the stakes; it escalates the emotional investment. Things spiral out of control more easily. Or, in Ajantis's case, _witholding _sex could now end up being the culprit. Shar-Teel seems far too foolish to actually contemplate the actions of others. What do you think her gut reaction to being _refused _will be? Perhaps nothing. Or perhaps a _tantrum_ in which she seriously harms either one of us or else some random surly peasant man in a bar fight. Who's to say?"

Edwin and Imoen reentered the inn then, with the Thayvian sporting a new black doublet, another layer of fabric under his robes, and newly hemmed and styled skirts. The two were bantering or bickering in Mulhorandi; something about fashion, listening to wardrobe advice, wenches, and the common ground squirrel, from the sound of it.

Khalid glanced at Jaheira. She shook her head prohibitively, and did not look up from her draughts.

...

* * *

One incredibly rescued kitten later, and Aegis was walking back to her room to find out what had happened to Xzar. She found him sprawled out over the bed with notes all around him and ink smudged on his face, with his tongue stuck out the corner of his mouth and a look of intense concentration on his face. Aegis lifted a brow and chuckled.

"Did you want to take the break to redo your face ink?"

"Hsst, busy, busy- oh, wait, that's a good idea," he perked up, momentarily losing his concentration and tapping his cheek with the quill he'd appropriated. "Hmm, but I must decide if it is to be symmetrical or not."

Aegis came up and settled Pretzels beside him. "You never did explain how you somehow _lost _tattoos in the first place. And I've noticed you've lost scars, too."

Xzar smiled cheekily at her. "Ah, that's my little secret. Mine mine mine!"

She tousled his hair. "Alright, I had another question then. When you're particularly agitated, it seems you always slip into Auld Thari_._ Why is that?"

"Oh? Mm. Most probably because it is my first language," he replied with a shrug.

Aegis' brow wrinkled. "People don't _speak_ Auld Thari anymore. How can it be your _first_ language?"

"Well. _Living_ people don't," the necromancer purred teasingly over the back of his hand.

Aegis blinked at him. Then a question occurred to her which felt strangely belated, particularly given how much her own family meant to her. "Xzar, do... do I have any eccentric in laws to meet? People to fuss over where the grandchildren will be spending Yule and Midsummer?"

Xzar blinked rapidly and twisted back to look at her. His gaze lost focus for a moment, and she suspected he was imagining what it might have been like to introduce her to people he no longer could. Then he came back to the present, and shook his head. "No," he answered her. "I am alone."

Aegis didn't know whether to feel sad or relieved, so she settled for a little of both. "Winthrop, Khalid, and Jaheira will just have to make due under a deluge of morbid, ranging magelings.

A bright smile touched his face. "I thought we were going to have a choir of bards?"

"Bards, guards, ranging magelings, maging rangelings, rampaging tarrasques; the elder generation will have to make due no matter what they are."

"One day," Xzar vowed as he scooted closer to recline in her lap. "One day, when there is time, I will work out _that_ puzzle for you. And you will have any children you want, however you want them."

"You're terrible with promises, remember?" She kissed his temple.

He giggled and resuming working with a teasing smile upon his face. "Even so, I really really, _really_ mean this one!"

Aegis chuckled She settled her arms about him and thought she might stay there for awhile, and simply enjoy his company. The rain was making her sleepy, anyway. Perhaps she'd follow Minsc's lead and take a nap.

...

* * *

A runner had come to the tavern two hours after lunch, telling Imoen that she had a letter waiting for her at the aerie. She had perked up and explained, 'That was quick! It must be my dad!' before flying out of the inn to go investigate. Hours later, after scribing another fresh spell, Edwin came to the conclusion that his waif was nowhere to be found.

It was not at all that he found himself missing the company, of course, but he was irked that Imoen had effectively skipped out of an entire afternoon of study. If he had gone to all the trouble of killing four Red Wizards and slighting his superiors in order to even _be_ there, was it too much to ask for her to actually _apply_ herself?

Hmph.

Another hour went by with neither hide nor hair of the thief. Edwin felt uncharacteristically agitated, though he couldn't fathom _why_.

People had finally stopped showering him with death threats and lectures, and he had actually gotten first pick of the spellcasting loot for had either knowingly or distractedly (because she was a veritable magpie), forgotten to mention finding a cache of magical equipment in Tazok's lodge. He'd remind her to bring it up, though not before making sure he had absolutely everything he needed from it...

Was she still outside? With Dynaheir missing and every reason to expect a reprisal from the Zhentarim?

...

* * *

"Have any of you seen a kleptomaniac girl running about unsupervised?" came an irritated and distinctly Thayvian sigh.

Khalid looked up in surprise, blinking past sleepiness now that all of their gear was properly sorted and tended to. "I-I-I-"

"Perhaps let your wife answer. She has been less sour than usual of late, and speaking will take her a shorter duration of time."

Jaheira looked up at the Red Wizard sharply and raised a brow. Edwin did not apologize, obviously, but a mild yield in his posture suggested that he would not take another swipe at Khalid. Perhaps the spoiled man-child _could_ learn a thing or two, if one was incredibly patient with him.

"I seem to recall seeing her," Jaheira decided. "She was asking the barkeep about renting out a corner in the tavern kitchens for the evening, and asking him what his fee might be. I believe she'd haggled him down to five dozen lemon tarts and a mint pudding."

"S-she haggled him down to t-two dozen, but the included another three as a g-gift," Khalid corrected with a chuckle.

Edwin wasn't sure whether to be sour that his apprentice was out tavern-wenching, or amused that she had reality-distorting powers through which confectionaries became a unit of currency.

"Well, let's see," the Red wizard mused sarcastically. "Her going rate for the common lemon tart is running at about half an hour of time, and if pudding is valued at anything like cake, that's approximately two to three tarts, multiplied by number of servings. If we factor in a high margin of profit on baked goods and services, somewhere in the ninety percent range, I presume this means she has rented out the kitchens for at least an hour and a half. What the devil could possibly be taking that much time?"

Branwen, who had come downstairs fifteen minutes ago looking even more tousled, turned about in her seat and frowned back at him. Then she looked over at a completely un-disheveled Xan, who was blinking slowly and introspectively at the Thayvian.

Wizards. "Well there goes another Kickapuppy," Aegis noted over her dinner. Fortunately, Edwin had no idea what she was talking about, or he might have been tempted to light someone on fire. (He seemed oddly mercurial at the moment, insulting one moment and then joking the next.) Xzar nearly snorted out half a cup of mead into his soup, and then giggled and coughed to himself. She gave him a hearty pat on the back. "Now I'm wondering if all the world's various measurement systems were created by bored and socially estranged wizards who were trying to describe the inexplicable behavior of their traveling companions."

The Red Wizard snorted. "Yes well, if that were the case, I am sure the wizard who crafted your western measurements was drunk at the time, and decided to use whatever cups, mugs, boots, appendages, and random knick knacks which were available as his starting points."

"I see no problem with that whatsoever," Aegis admitted. "In fact, buy me another bottle of whisky."

Edwin glared irritably. "What happened to the first, O Alcoholic One?" he snapped.

"I drank it the first night you were back, wise ass. And loved every sense-diluting, expensive drop of it. And then got up at six in the morning the next day, because that's just _me_."

The conjurer straightened. "That's impossible. That was a _quart_. No man or woman can drink a _quart _of whisky in one sitting and expect to end up anywhere other than a house of healing by morning."

"Oh they can't?" Aegis asked skeptically. "Well then I'll start up a collection of impossibly empty whisky bottles. Now buy me a _pint_."

...

* * *

Tallix was wary even before stepping into the caverns that would lead them to the underdark. The two companions carried no lights, and made due with supernatural means. The caverns were silent but for the chitter of bats and drip of water, and the upper dark would be quieter still.

"We'll need ta be takin' this slow and easy," she remarked in whisper. "Little doubt we're a mite rusty."

Gorion nudged her gently and she glanced at him. With one hand, he quickly signed a crude, _You been in Underdark before? _

Tallix jumped slightly and signed back more artfully, _When did you learn to do this?_

The wizard grinned through the dark._ When did *you*? Is now good time for stories?_

Tallix eyed him curiously and then grinned. _I plan on hearing this next time we have drink. _

He patted her shoulder with a grin. They were in for a long, quiet, dark road, interspersed with moments of intense and odds-defying violence.

...

* * *

Imoen appeared shortly after dinner, carrying a tray of something which steamed. The smell was what caught Edwin's attention first, and he looked up from his frustrated spellcrafting labor before she'd even reached his side.

He smelled _sesame. _Sesame, lemon, olive, garlic...

Imoen had a piranha-like grin stretched across her face as she skipped up beside him and settled down a tray. He looked down in bewilderment to find a bowl of garnished hummus spooned over bell peppers, noodles and baked lamb.

"What in the nine hells did you _do_?" he demanded, poking at the dish.

Imoen grinned wiser still, her eyes half-lidded as she leered at him. "I asked my da if he knew any recipes from Thay or Mulhorand. Turns out he did! This was the only easy one, though."

Edwin looked at her incredulously, almost offended by her presumptuousness. "You expect _me_ to eat _this_?"

She laughed, brushing off the implied insult. "Hey, you're the one always complaining about the cuisine here! Don't worry, you don't have to eat it. I just thought I'd give it a try. I did manage to find some dried Maztica Peppers being sold by a shop near Feldposts. No one's planting them hereabouts, though, so you can't really get em fresh. Those things are _really_ spicy!"

The Red Wizard stared at her for a long, disbelieving moment. Then he looked down at the noodles.

"You want to give it a try?" she hoped.

He glanced at her with a wince. Then he shook his head, picked up a fork, and stabbed into the noodles. He rolled them up and hesitantly lifted them to sniff. Then he took a dainty bite.

Imoen tilted her head to the side, waiting with heavily-suppressed eagerness. Her wizard chewed a few times, swallowed, and then looked back down at the dish.

The silence became unbearable.

"Well?" she blurted.

"Yes, yes," he grunted bitterly. "It's good."

Imoen whooped in delight and threw her arms about his shoulders, hugging him tightly. "Ha! Ha, I knew it! I can cook anything with the right recipe!" she cackled, kissing his temple and then letting go that she might skip off to find her own dinner.

Edwin stared after her almost morosely for a long moment, still curled up over his spiced hummus. Then he looked to his open spellbook and hesitantly parted the pieces of parchment. Sandwiched near the back was Imoen's bloodstained and wrinkled exercise, with it's crisp _'I miss you. Come home.'_

He rubbed his temple momentarily, confused and unsettled by bizarre physiological sensations. Then the smell of spice called him back to his dinner, and he hoarded the meal to himself, jealously, so that he could savor every bite.

From some distance away, Xzar watched the Thayvian closely. A dry, amused expression stretched lazily across the necromancer's face.

_What a sight you are, crimson scorpion: desperate for the innocent affection of a charming pink froggy, and yet intellectually oblivious to the need. You don't reflect much, do you? _

Xzar titled his head to the side. _I wonder what precisely it was that cracked open your chitin? Are you actually molting, then? Or, more likely, are we about to watch all your organs leak out between the gaps, in some pathetic and juvenile death rattle?_

He glanced back at Aegis momentarily before returning to eyeing the Red Wizard. _If I am not allowed to kill you yet, I suppose our best recourse is to keep you... sedated. Until we know better._

_See, Red Wizard, what my Aegis cares about most is _not_ her own life. It is _Imoen's._ That's important to me, though you've so little means of knowing it. _His gazed narrowed, though a frown now tugged at his lips.

_I might one day betray my lover. I probably __can't help it- it's we scorpions' nature, after all- but I truly care about her. Truly. __Which leaves really only one guaranteed way for me to show it: __By protecting her sister. _

_Which puts you in a precarious position, I'm afraid. A very, very, precious position._

...

* * *

Viconia and Kivan spent the majority of the day scouring the camp. Kivan killed several bandits who had come to pick at the burnt remains, all of whom looked like they had been recruited from farming villages. Kivan, certainly, was no Ajantis.

The ranger retraced his steps in combat twice before he was able to find where the Blacksun had been lost beneath the waves of ash. Given that the object was completely unidentifiable and covered by a plain of uninterrupted fluff, this was actually something of a miraculous feat.

Yet still prowled the ruins, picking up enchanted gear as he found it, and killing men whom they came across, but otherwise seeming to be _looking_ for something. Viconia re-interpreted this as Kivan's way of dealing with the information they had learned about Tazok.

They left the ruins as the sun was setting, and traveled for only a single hour before stopping to make a camp of their own.

It was Kivan's habit to circle the area after his 'Lean-To' was made, and he'd eventually take up watch as a mute sentinel in one of the trees until dawn came. Viconia _presumed_ that he would trance while balanced up among the branches, as he had never previously used the 'Lean-Tos' which he built for her.

This evening was different. After circling the camp once and returning, he paced back and forth, and back and forth. He was a naturally stealthy creature, but the small sounds of interrupted raindrops and splatters of mud eventually drew her attention. She opened her eyes and saw him there, and watched him for several minutes.

Did he intend to pace all night? She shifted her weight upon the bed of sticks and pine needles which were keeping her dry. "Darthiir," she called groggily. He did not stop pacing. "Kivan, I am aware that you dislike speaking your mind to people, but this looks... _serious_." She rubbed her face. "Have you considered praying to some relevant deity, at least?"

The ranger turned about and fixed her with a hollow stare.

Viconia sighed tiredly. "What?" she asked. "For all that The Nightsinger is a mother of loss, I wasn't suggesting _her_..."

"My deity is The Black Archer, elvish god of vengeance."

She frowned. She knew few members of the elvish pantheon; such names were not spoken beneath the earth.

"Tell me, drow. In all your service to Lolth, have you ever heard surface elves join battle with the words '_An_ _huipacca qualhuine'?"_

The warcry _did_ sound familiar, although Viconia could not be sure. Surface elf raids were as rare as they were efficient; cold, incisive motions that could spell the death of an unprepared noble house overnight.

"Those are the words of Shevarash, my patron, who carries the burden of avenging an entire people. His crusaders shout it remembrance of slaughtered innocence. There is nothing in the world he hates more than the daughters of Araushnee. And there will come a day, soon, Viconia DeVir, when I shall give you one of my arrows for him; and send your twisted soul to rot in hell."

Viconia stared up at him through the curtain of rain. Then she sighed, shifted her weight, and laid her head back down onto her arms.

They had apparently re-entered the clenched-jawed death-threats phase.

...

* * *

"The third day in a row," Jaheira remarked, drawing Khalid's attention.

"P-pardon?" he asked, following Jaheira's gaze to where Imoen had clearly been chatting at the bar with some stranger. Edwin was leaning over the back of her chair to speak with her and, by the look of things, had sorely offended her potential date.

Shar-Teel made a disgusted noise. "If I were getting cock-blocked that badly, you'd have a very dead Red Wizard to clean up," she muttered.

"Not everyone is as vulgar as you," Ajantis noted.

The fightress spat a laugh. She had a good bruise across her nose and seemed quite thrilled with it. Ajantis had been limping on his return from sparring practice, but had waved off Jaheira's attempts to help him. He'd mended his injuries himself. "You think I don't know what the brat likes? Usually we go bar hopping to get away from all you stiffs."

Xan rolled his eyes. As unsavory as Shar-Teel might have been, she was one of the team's best fighters, and Xan had little doubt she would have torn apart any man- unsolicited lecher, or malicious assassin- who sought to bring harm to Imoen Winthrop. Letting them head out together was a bit like renting Imoen a bodyguard.

"I see a Red Wizard's possessiveness continues to escalate," the elf noted sourly.

Khalid frowned at his wife, who shrugged and noted, "He'll have her asleep with the lights out by ten, and then up again studying magic before dawn. I'm not sure, but it _seems_ to be a healthy improvement on rampant philandering into the morning hours."

Shar-Teel snorted. "Speak for yourself."

...

* * *

Movement roused Viconia out of sleep, though she did not immediately open her eyes. If there was some predator nearby, she would have to steal the briefest moment to reorient herself before showing that she was awake!

Then she realized she'd been disturbed by Kivan, and that the wild elf was crawling shakily into the lean-to beside her. His breathing was heavy- almost pained sounding, although she did not detect the scent of blood. He got himself out of the rain, and fussed with his cloak so that it soaked neither of them.

_You failed to trance?_

Kivan had never struggled once to trance in all the time she had known of him. A trance was a form of meditation, and required inner stability. Xan struggled to trance, she knew because she'd asked him. And Viconia could not trance at all, not since she had parted from Lolth. But Kivan?

Kivan was a singularly driven individual with a narrowly defined purpose and an utter absence of doubt. His mind was not a_ happy_ place, of that she had little doubt, but it was certainly unyielding. Misery or failure, alone, seemed hardly enough to thwart him. Yet there he was, voluntarily enduring physical contact with her. There was no other explanation other than that he had tried and failed to center himself.

...His nearness was exciting. _Unnerving_. It sent tingling waves of adrenaline through her as he settled into place. She felt as if she'd found herself sharing a den with a well-fed krenshar, and the only course of action she could think of really was to go along with the situation and not make any sudden movements.

Kivan was much bigger than her, and much stronger, and now he was both uninjured and armed. It was probably best if she did not so much as speak, or let him know she was awake. Small actions could incite the Wild Elf at even his most amenable times, and at present he was perhaps unstable. But if she stayed quiet, and did not move much, it seemed she would be safe. They were touching, after all, and he did not lash out.

And her krenshar was warm. Warm, and sharp-sensed, and wise to danger. Whether trancing or asleep, he would probably be a very difficult quarry to sneak up on. There was some small security in that knowledge.

...

* * *

Edwin was stirred from restless sleep by a quiet sound. He opened his eyes quickly and listened. The window wasn't open; neither was the door. No, the sound he heard was Imoen's: her breath-rate was elevated, and she was making sharp little sounds and murmurs.

_Another nightmare, then_. Not that he had been sleeping any better...

He moved to sit up, and at the creaking of his cot, she went abruptly silent. He paused, surprised. Was she awake? The sky outside was overcast and the room was pitch black; he could see nothing. "Imoen?"

Silence answered him for a brief moment. Then her response came, blurted out in a heavy rush: "Hey so Edwin, do you remember a conversation we had after the assassination attempt in the brothel about something you asked me, and I said it was fine- as long as we were fair about it- and if we never talked about it ever?"

Edwin's brain took a moment to digest every possible interpretation of the memory she'd just selected. Then, when only one explanation yet remained, his jaw sagged involuntarily.

_Wait. What? Do you mean to tell me that you are actually engaged in-?_

Her voice was thick with the sound of heavy breathing. "So, well, if you do remember, um, maybe now would be a good time not to, uh, ask-"

Edwin's eyes widened. He did not manage to articulate a confirmation that he understood. He rolled away from her and quickly pulled his pillow over his head.

Imoen sighed, apparently relieved that the conversation had progressed no farther.

A few moments later, and he realized he could still hear her. Pillows were insufficient to block out all noise, and the rain had tapered off that evening. In the dead hours of the night, there were no sounds of carousing to muffle the rustling of sheets, or her softly voice pants. Now and then, he even caught small sounds of moisture.

She was only three feet away. They were separated more by darkness than by air.

Edwin started mentally tallying his spell components, recalling mathematics tables, reciting history lessons, solving geometric formulas, and piecing together draconic forms.

This was probably worse than simple embarrassment, but he staunchly ignored anything which might possibly be going on between his legs.

Kwefai and concubines: Now _there_ was a mental association he really did not want or need.

...

* * *

Imoen ended up giving Edwin a little more space than normal when he woke her up in the morning, mostly because he looked incredibly tired. He didn't say anything in appreciation.

By late morning he was again summoning her over to his side of the booth so that he could sketch out a draconic form for her, and she wagered that things were out of mind and back to normal.

Shar-Teel had again invited Ajantis to spar, and the paladin hurried after her if only to keep the fightress's terrible temper in check. Imoen thought the two of them seemed to be 'bonding,' almost, in a rather friendly way.

"We're going to head to the Smithy to see what's for sale and what's been repaired so far," Aegis called to Imoen.

"She's busy!" Edwin answered, resting his chin on his palm and watching as Imoen studied her latest transcription attempt.

Aegis raised a brow, half surprised and half amused. Then she shrugged and gestured to the remainder of her party. Xan and Xzar were accompanying just to spend time with their respective partners.

...

* * *

The party had only gone a few dozen meters down the road when a delighted shriek sprang up behind them.

"Xan!" a thief squealed. "Look, look, look, look, look!"

Xan blinked and turned about just in time to be pounced by an Imoen wearing a transparent set of glowing armor.

"It's _pink_," the enchanter blurted, and then he broke out laughing.

"It's pink!" Imoen howled with laughter. "How did I make it pink!?"

Edwin was following close behind her, and he gave an exasperated sigh. "The gods only know how you managed to _color_ something you do not even understand!"

"I understand it fine! See? I wrote it out in my own style! I mastered it! This is like the first spell I've ever mastered ever! It has a spellbook entry and everything! Look, look!" She held up her spellbook to Xan, completely forgetting that such things out to have been private. Edwin scowled and then rolled his eyes in resignation. "Weee!"

Xan blinked as the book was thrust into his hands, glancing at Imoen and Edwin both before looking hesitantly at the page Imoen had opened for him. The inscription, for lack of a better word, was _beautiful_. It was not flourished or stylized, but the balance in its design was frankly astounding from a child, much less one with such a sporadic magical education!

He looked up at her in surprise. "This is excellent work, Imoen..."

Imoen squealed and hopped in place. She took the book back to inspect her own handiwork, and then kissed it and closed the tome and hugged it close to herself. "I know! I know I know I know I know! Hee!"

"If you are quite done?" Edwin muttered, affecting to be more irritated and significantly less thrilled than he actually was.

"Xanisteirial Feilien!"

The party hardly registered the voice, with one noticeable exception: Xan just about leaped out of his skin and spun about.

"Xanisteirial!"

Alerted by Xan's reaction, the party heard the shout much more clearly. They recognized what might have been a 'Xan' sound at the front, and even Branwen was able to quickly realize that this might be their enchanter's full name.

His preference for 'Xan' was suddenly easy to appreciate.

Then an equally petite moon elf in grand wizarding robes had hurried up alongside them. Branwen swiftly concluded that he was male, as he had the proper hairline for it. She supposed she had Xzar to thank for that 'trick' in discerning elvish genders at first glance.

Xan's eyes widened, and he managed a bewildered acknowledgement of, "Uncle?" before the other elf outright hugged him. Branwen straightened in surprise, looking more-closely at the other elf. He was scarcely two inches taller than Xan himself. Were _all_ Moon Elves tiny?! Then again, most men in the Heartlands were smaller than Branwen... And Moon Elves were not _so_ much shorter than Heartlander men, by comparison...

Abruptly, it occurred to Branwen how much shorter Montaron was than Imoen. _That_ must have been an interesting height difference. Hmm.

[Where have you been!?]the new elf half-wailed and half-demanded in elvish.

"I-I-" their enchanter sputtered in shock.

The older elf puleld back from the hug. [We thought you were dead! We received the news that you and Unteriael had disappeared!]

"What are you _doing_ here!?" Xan managed.

The older elf made a sound that came out a mixture of a sob, sigh, and laugh. "With the restoration of Nashkel Mines, I had come to see if it was possible to _retrieve your remains."_

The younger elf looked shaken.

"Only upon my arrival, I heard that one of the Greycloaks had been rescued. I thought surely- surely if it were you, you would have written to _report in_\- you would have let us know...! But I held out hope-!"

"I-I am alive," Xan confirmed. "I have this party to thank and our goals align-"

"Goals!? Xan, why didn't you _write us_!?" the uncle demanded.

Xan shifted. "I... I did not see the point, as my mission has not yet been completed. Although the Nashkel Mines are cleared, we have yet to reverse or uncover the true culprits behind the Iron Crisis with any evidence-"

"Your _mission_!?" the uncle squawked, seizing hold of Xan and giving the enchanter a shake. "Of all the narrow-minded, selfish, introverted notions! We thought you were _dead, _you young fool! Oh, this is _just_ like you! Did you not spare a single thought for us?! For your family!?

"I, I thought about you plenty-" Xan tried to interrupt, but Uncle clearly did not believe him.

"Everyone is in mourning! Your brothers- your sisters- are you entirely indifferent to them!?" He released Xan to gesticulate, and his voice had risen dramatically in pitch and volume. "Your mother is _inconsolable_! Did you spare even a second's consideration for her? Has your insensitive venere grown so thick that you can't even imagine what she is going through!?"

The rest of the party gaped at this display. Even Edwin, who in Viconia's and Shar-Teel's absence would typically have been first in line to comment, looked dumbstruck. Tiny people, as it turned out, were not at all handicapped when it came to handing out potent tongue-thrashings.

"I assure you," Xan's tone had adopted an edge, "it was not _obliviousness _which lead me to withhol-"

"Do you actually _want _for her to believe you are dead, is that it? Are you punishing her for some imagined fault!"

Xan's ear twitched, and his eyes had fallen to half-mast in irritation. "Of course not, Unc-"

"She, she who suckled you to her breast as a babe, who saw your first steps and read you your first books, do her feelings mean _nothing_ to you?!"

Branwen had never seen an overprotective parent wielding the flails of guilt before, and the screwed-up expression on her face suggested she felt confused and almost violated by the experience.

Xzar had absolutely no idea what was going on, and it showed in the confused furrow of his brow. Imoen, who usually would have rescued _anyone_ from such an onslaught, was simply too overwhelmed. Aegis was contemplating picking the older elf up by the scruff of his robes and shaking him until he came to his senses.

Xan's ears had fallen back against his hair, and his posture had drooped to match. He did not look cowed, hurt, or guilty so much as _resigned_ to the unpleasant humiliation of being publicly flogged. "Of course they do, Uncle," he supplied dutifully, his voice a morose drone.

"Well you have an incomprehensible way of showing it!" the Uncle whirled back on him. "As a child, these moods of yours were tolerable! But at _this_ age, one would think you had grown out of such immature behavior!" he was now gesturing quite animatedly. "It is not _cute_ any longer!

"Your fellow Graycloaks, old friends and family- _everyone_ has been coming to pay their respects! Unknowing that the boy they grieve for is frolicking gaily about the human countryside," he turned around at this, waggling his arms in the air and gesturing off at nothing, "in complete contempt of their love for him!"

Xan must have given up all resistance, or else he surely would have protested use of the word 'frolicking.' He stared blankly up at his older relative, waiting.

Uncle was ranting something about innumerable ancestors whom Xan was absolutely not like, and snarky remarks about how he had 'no idea' where this behavior had come from, because all of Xan's ancestors were reputable people and would never possibly have acted similarly.

Xan continued to absorb the onslaught in a manner that suggested it would only worsen if he spoke up. His cheek was twitching slightly as he endeavored to keep his expression neutral.

"To tell us nothing!" Uncle ranted. "Not even your own mother- or your _intended_-! How could you do this to your own _betrothed_!?"

That was what knocked Xan out of passive acceptance of the rant. He seized up and spun about to look up at a startled Branwen, mouthed 'no!' and, made rapid 'negative!' gestures with his hands.

Uncle was still caught up in his tirade, and not exactly looking at his nephew. "How _overjoyed_ we were that any girl had been willing to overlook your unsociable demeanor!" Xan looked back to his uncle. "And _this _is how you repay her affections? Xanisteirial, by the Seldarine, there are days I swear you do not even deserve her." He whirled back towards the younger wizard.

"Hoi!" Branwen finally shouted, stepping forward and startling both elves. "The _hells_ is the matter with you?" she demanded. "You can't just show up and start doing that to a grown man in the middle of a road!"

The elf straightened and sniffed at her. "Madam, as grateful as we are to this whole part for Xanisteirial's life, I would beseech you to please keep your own council on matters which do not concern you."

"They bloody well concern me, and to be honest they ought to concern anyone watching this disgraceful display!"

Xan's lips parted drooped, and his eyes widened. The older elf's gaze sharpened; he had the same cyan eyes, and his gaze was twice as piercing. "I'm afraid this is a _family_ affair," he growled. "And there is no need for such _vulgar_ language."

Branwen took another step forward. "Vulgar!? He's not some wee lad running around in his jimmies, catching glowbugs and falling out of trees! He's over a century old, and if sends a note home at all you ought ta be fecking _grateful_!"

Xan's eyes could not possibly have gotten any wider, nor could his ears have lain any further back.

Uncle was trying to be tolerant of the people who had saved his nephew's life. "Perhaps that is how they do things wherever you harken from, but in _civilized_ lands a modicum of respect for one's family and their feelings is warranted."

"By Tempus' ass! You bloody went and showed a great deal of respect for your nephew when you showed up outta the blue to box him round the ears like a misbehaving toddler in front of his peers and shield mates, when he's a goddamn hero and you're just some high strung doll in a dress!"

Xan looked over to see that his uncle had gone livid; his face was blushed purple with indignity as he stepped forward.

"And to whom, 'madam,' am I speaking? Whom would presume to intrude on a private conver-?"

"I'm his _girlfriend _you tiny pisswipe of a man! And this bloody conversation wasn't private the moment you started shrieking it out like a fekkin banshee for all the world ta hear in the middle of a crowded street corner!"

Xan looked back at her. His lower jaw drooped. The uncle nearly leaped out of his skin.

"Y-you are-" the older elf sputtered, and then he broke out laughing and grimaced at her. "I am afraid you are either shoddy in your grasp of _Thorasta_ or else delusional. That any elf would even dream of-!" He looked her up and down and then decided to let her down gently with thick sarcasm: "I'm afraid you are not exactly of the right _build_."

Xan looked back at his uncle. Then slowly focused entirely on the man. Both ears came slowly back up.

Perhaps ironically, Branwen's intense Waelan accent slipped into her speech right then; but, remarkably, she did not miss a beat in the argument. "You go ohn n' ohn about lohve n' feelin' like you are ae Hartwreyncher of Sune and then you're feerst remark on me, you choose to throw at my physicael appayrance!? Are you bloody daft!?" the cleric demanded

"Xanisteirial," the Uncle intoned, "please speak to your erstwhile companion so that we might continue-"

"Branwen spoke truthfully," Xan responded, emphasizing every word.

His uncle looked at him. A moment passed in silence before the older elf's eyes brows narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"Uncle, you are free to ridicule me in any manner you please. I am accustomed to it. But do not- ever- mock her again."

"You can't be serious," the elf asked him, quietly. "Are you- have you lost your mind? Tell me you are not serious."

A smirk might have threatened at Xan's face if he had not been so invested in pushing this point. "I was captured and held beneath the ground for six and eighty days, uncle, by a half-orc cleric of Cyric. I will spare you the retelling," he intoned. "Branwen has been my rock, and I will _not_ endure any criticism of her."

The older elf winced, but Branwen's physical presence gave him more to disagree with than any distant concept of 'Cleric of Cyric' could. "Are you _mad_? That is- by the accent, callous demeanor, and physical appearance that is a _Norheimer_! A pirate raider- a-a- _thug_-!"

"I said," Xan growled in a sharp snap, his eyes flaming cyan and his voice humming both rich and low, "that you are _not_ to insult her. And on that point, if on no other, you _will_ respect me. Or I will simply render you paralyzed, and _walk away._"

"You would _never_-!"

"What do you think I would not do? Leave you without word for the better part of a year? I have had a very long and harrowing year, and your next words may govern whether I _ever_ come home," Xan told him. "So pick wisely, or you will be explaining to Mother that not only is her son is 'frolicking' about the Western Heartlands but that he intends to turn in his cloak and remain there."

A silence stretched between the two men (and over the entire party). The older elf looked about ready to burst into an even longer and more over-the-top rant, but their enchanter's cold and icy stare seemed to give him pause. Perhaps he did have greater listening skills than they might have initially credited him with, because his indignity did not overcome his uncertainty. He backed up a step, physically yielding, and watched his nephew with growing confusion.

When Xan was sure he'd made an impression (He had made an_ impression_!), he turned and stepped up to Branwen. "_Meldonin_," he murmured, placing a hand on her arm. "I realize that you wish to 'protect me,' and I am grateful, but I would appreciate if you might please speak to my family in a gentler manner from here on out."

Branwen frowned at him and seemed to deflate a little. She shifted her weight and then inclined her head. "A'ight. Ai can try," she yielded. Her gaze shifted moodily over to the older elf. "Nae promises, though."

"Thank you, _Meldonin_," Xan told her earnestly, and then turned to look back to his uncle. "Presently, I and my greater party are engaged in an errand. When we have finished, however, I believe I shall have plenty of time to come and continue this conversation with you _privately_. If you can give me an inn name and a room number, I will come and find you this afternoon."

...

* * *

[Author's Note]

1\. I think all of us need a Branwen sometimes.

_2\. Xanisteirial Feilien - _Xan's full name borrowed with a big thanks to Winding Warpath :3

3\. Maztica peppers are Chili peppers. Mulhorandi Hummus is not identical to real-world hummus, either in form or function, but it's still made with chick peas, lemon, and sesame. It is, however, much spicier.

5\. Kivan's quote '_An_ _huipacca qualhuine' _is my rough elvish translation of 'For the Dark Court Slaughter.' The Dark Court Slaughter was a Faerun canon event which happened many millennia ago, in which drow invaded a peaceful meeting between dwarves and elves and slaughtered countless innocents. Sheverash himself was one of the few survivors, and eventually became the elvish god of hatred for drow, loss, and vengeance. The cry therefore has a bit of 'Remember the Alamo!' to it ;)

6\. Sheverash's devoted followers are few in number (and most are more dour than Kivan if you can believe it), but are proof that the elves have tightly organized and coordinated military efforts arranged against the drow, and even counter-raid them. Most likely, elf cities also have control over the Underdark (at least the highest reaches) beneath their own lands, which we see to some degree is true about Suldanessellar.

7\. Here I have Viconia referencing the_ krenshar_, although she most probably means some type of underdark variety of the animal. The krenshar depicted in the monster manual is reasonably social, jungle-dwelling big cat with gray fur, a fringe of hair, and brown spots. And the ability to pull its skin back form its face and emit a keening wail that causes all living things to flee in terror. This ability is used in a fairly mundane animal way: so that it can drive prey at its pride mates, engage in shows of social dominance, eat food without mussing up its fur, or scare scavengers away from its cubs. Like a lion roar, only considerably more wtf. And they make good alternatives to dogs as ranger pets, too!

I imagine the underdark krenshar to be a dull violet that absorbs most infrared light, with bioluminescent blood which shows up brightly on the red and infrared wavelengths, so that its scare attack can be vividly *seen* when its skin pulls back off its face. Incoming pride of superheated, disembodied, floating, red, dripping, vulture-like, panther skulls! Arrg!

Well for now just imagine nine of those things baying like wraith-hyenas and chasing a shrieking Viconia up a stalagmite while leaping up and biting at her underpants, which is funny; and then her shouting and crying angry things at gods she has no names for and asking the world why it is punishing her, which is considerably less funny... And perhaps more informative of *how much* it sucks to be alone in the underdark with zero survival skills, class levels which have suddenly become useless, a strength of ten, and a constitution of eight...

Explanations for why Viconia's Dex is 19: "I had to climb up a lot of things, and down a lot of things, and leap off a lot of cliffs, and dive over magma, and evade pointy, slashy, and tentacley doom, to get away from everything that was trying to eat me _just_ _long_ _enough_ for something bigger and scarier to eat them first. Which is how I found enough table scraps to live off of. Really by now I've turned 'not dying' into its own martial arts form."


	22. Stories, Schemes, and Sleeping

_**Stories, Schemes, and Sleeping Arrangements**_

...

* * *

When the party had gotten at least one hundred meters away, and rounded two corners, Xan finally reacted. He let out a hard sigh, slumped, and clasped his face with one hand. The party stopped and turned to face him, with most of its members still mute in bewilderment. Imoen hadn't left his side, bless her, and she steadied his shoulder gently now.

"Wow," Pink broke the silence as Branwen shifted near to him. "Are you _okay_?"

"I am still reeling," the elf admitted in a small voice. "That was not exactly expected."

"_I'll_ say," Imoen muttered. "Now I'm all paranoid about ole Puffguts showing up outta the blue, to hand me fresh undies and tell me to wash behind my ears..."

Xan winced slightly, but the unflattering monicker Imoen used for her own father brought a bemused smirk to their enchanters lips for a moment.

Imoen looked thoughtfully up at Edwin, realizing Daddy probably wouldn't approve of all her friends. The Red Wizard, who appeared to be in almost as much shock as Xan, took a moment to even recognize that she was looking at him.

Xan shook his head to clear it and then looked up at the party. "I apologize for that, well, interruption," he decided, "and I am ready to proceed. Do we happen to have any other errands to partake of after this blacksmith trip has completed?"

Aegis cleared her throat. "We still need real tents," she assessed.

"Tents," Khalid agreed. "T-tents sound like a very good idea."

"And think how _long_ we'll have to spend making sure we've picked out the right kind," Jaheira added, gesturing that they should walk. "Why, we might have to check out _every_ tent merchant in town."

"And after that we should probably scry to find out where some missing people are," Imoen added brightly.

Xan nodded in mute thanks, surprised and relieved to be met with understanding. Branwen eased an arm around his shoulders, and the party began to move again. Imoen looked up at Branwen, and then hurried on ahead to give the couple some space.

...

* * *

Xzar dropped back to walk with Xan on the way to the Smithy, and he craned over in puzzlement to inspect the enchanter's face.

"Are all families like that?" he asked in wide-eyed innocence.

Xan eyed the necromancer, still guarded in feeling. Then he sighed and answered with all the patience he could muster: "Not exactly."

"The enchanter is embarrassed? Stressed?" The madman straightened and cradled one of his elbows in hand as he tapped his lips thoughtfully. "Perhaps that makes a form of sense. The pitch, tone, and volume of the elder elf's tirade suggested an overbearing disapproval which could likely prove uncomfortable if subjected to over a sustained period of time." He tilted his head to the side. "Though, you are very lucky, you must realize."

The elf's brow furrowed. He wasn't certain how much of Xzar he could take at the moment, particularly as he wasn't entirely certain he _forgave_ the necromancer just yet. Still, Xzar's statement begged the question: "For what, in this particular instance?"

"Oh, well, you have someone thinking of you, waiting for you to come home," Xzar remarked. "Which is important, right? And not everyone has that, you know." He glanced briefly at Aegis. Losing her father had played a significant role in the formation and maintenance of their entire party.

Xan winced. "Thank you for rubbing my nose in how ungrateful I am, Xzar."

The necromancer jumped. "I didn't suppose you were. Ungrateful, I mean. You don't have to feel _guilt_ to feel _grateful_," Xzar mused thoughtfully. Then he smiled conspiratorially down at Xan. "But maybe instead of rationalizing things, you should distract yourself by thinking about what Lord Ilvastarr would think on being introduced to Shar-Teel."

There was something endearing about the thrice-damned madman. Xan couldn't help a tiny smile.

...

* * *

Imoen glanced up at Edwin's face in amusement. {You look dazed,} she remarked.

He shook his head. {I was merely overwhelmed by the process of imagining _my_ father doing anything remotely similar to me. Turning up out of the blue, and nagging like that.}

{And?} she prodded, snickering. {How did that go for you?}

{I simply couldn't do it. Just- Paf!} he opened both hands to indicate a small explosion. {It-it was simply too much nonsense for my brain to handle. And I have _quite_ a brain, as you know.}

Imoen cackled, looping an arm around her wizard's and leaning happily into his side. She was starting to_ like_ these odd little moments, when Edwin acted playfully.

...

* * *

A good tent was a weighty thing, and the purchase thereof forced the party to consider what its sleeping arrangements would be on the road. The more people they could pack into a single tent, the more practical that tent became, and the easier it would be to spread out and carry its individual parts. Even tents suitable for two were much more efficient than tents for one; not to mention that multiple bodies made camping much _warmer_ and necessitated fewer blankets.

"We could basically keep the same groupings as we do in inns, right?" Imoen postulated. "Though we should probably have at least one _big_ tent in case someone gets hurt and we need some space to treat them in."

"Hmm," Xzar frowned. "Wait, does that mean I will be sharing a tent with _Jaheira..._ or with _Branwen_? It makes a big difference and I must confess my preference for the latter." Xan glanced at him. Xzar blinked at the elf's expression. "What? Well, I already like both you and Sir Stutters-A-Lot. He's remarkably sweet-tempered for a Harper, don't you think?" Khalid did a double take.

"Oh boy, don't make Imoen get out the paper again," Aegis grinned. "I think that will work, with a few shufflings, like placing Imoen and Shar-Teel.

"Why me?" Imoen wondered.

Aegis turned an amused look on her. "I don't know. Has a temperamental, eastern wizard gotten any better at snuggling since he nearly lit us all on fire while we were camping out in a trashed caravan wagon, or is he going to demand a single tent and wheedle you into carrying it in that Bag of yours?"

"Ha! Well he can share with someone or he can freeze his ass off! Maybe he'll use magic to wall off any snuggling attempts, hehe. Then we could put him with Shar-Teel!"

An indignant, choked snarl informed her that this would _not_ be an acceptable arrangement, and Aegis had a good laugh.

The party members went on in deliberating over their needed purchases. Most likely, they would buy a few tents now and then buy a few individually after talking to some of their missing members.

Edwin and Imoen shared a mute, worried look behind everyone else's backs.

...

* * *

Officer Vai was waiting for the group at the entrance to the Jovial Juggler. She had her shoulders squared and her chin held high with her helmet under arm. Aegis sucked sourly on the inside of her cheek for a moment, contemplating the law enforcement official. Then she strode up to greet the officer, and waved for Xan alone to accompany. He was as acerbic as Jaheira, but had more tact.

"Aegis," Vai greeted with a curt nod. "Despite your defiance of Balduran authority, we _were_ able to investigate Viconia DeVir's claims."

"And?" the ranger asked, unimpressed.

"We still have some questions we'd like to ask her," Vai explained.

Xan's eyes narrowed. "Officer, are your men going through our things in an effort to find scrying materials despite the fact that you've found Viconia DeVir to be innocent?"

The woman was silent for a moment, before straightening an inch further. "As I said, we have questions."

Xan nodded and carefully selected the card he wished to play from his deck:

"Officer, we have a Diabolist Red Wizard of Thay in our party. I do not frequently ask him about his warding strategies, as we tolerate him only for his unmatched spellcasting prowess and the vital role he has helped play in investigating the Iron Crisis, but let us just say I pray for _everyone_ in the Jovial Juggler that your men have attempted to break into a room _I_ have warded. Because if they were unwise enough to seek entry to his room while he is not there to diffuse things, we may all have the misfortune of finding out how much paranoid eastern wizards care about collateral damage when proofing against assassination attempts.

Vai turned a little gray. She glanced hesitantly back at the inn. "We inquired after the drow's room number."

"Thank the Seldarine," Xan murmured, his eyes intense.

Aegis leaned back on the heels of her feet, and rested her hands upon her hips. "Lady, I don't understand why you are suddenly acting like we're somehow opposed to you. After all we've done for the region, risking life and limb and spending a hell of a lot of gold, I would have thought you'd realized we're on the same side. Some of us have nearly _died_."

"You have helpedus," Vai admitted, "yet you act in contempt of the law. You have aided and abetted a criminal, and stood in the way of due process."

_The Law? _Aegis thought incredulously. "_Kivan_ aided and abetted a _completely innocent woman_, and then I shouted at you loudly to stop lobbing racism at my eighteen-year-old Amnite long enough to do your job in investigating my drow's alibi."

"My men reported being confronted by a party on the road in their initial pursuit of Viconia DeVir. That was, quite obviously, you."

Aegis nodded, unashamed. "Because I saw then what I see now: They would have murdered an innocent woman for the illusion of righteousness. You would have let them, andI stopped them. Do not _chastise_ me for that, woman, when Torm, Tyr, and Ilmater would have all known the truth. That wasn't justice; That was fishing for a scapegoat."

...

* * *

Aegis thought it was probably a credit to Xan's skills as mage (which were otherwise difficult to measure, owed to the lack of explosive indicators) that quite a number of Vai's men had ended up confused, stunned, asleep, or paralyzed. Regardless, the Everskan had little problem in dispelling the effects, and was glad to see the soldiers on their way.

"That was clever, using the Triad's doctrines against Vai," Xan mentioned after a moment. "Ajantis is only eighteen?"

Aegis looked down at the petite elf. "He's just a kid."

"I didn't realize he was younger than Imoen. He certainly isn't a_ gangly_ youth. Perhaps we have whoever trained him to thank for that." He mused. "How old is Shar-Teel?"

Aegis shrugged. "Thirty? Older? Younger? She doesn't talk about herself much, and sun's weathered her skin a bit."

Xan sighed and rubbed his brow.

Aegis glanced around and then waved the elf close. He blinked at her and then came over to listen, and she spoke as quietly as she possibly could: "Imoen is turning twenty on the _twelfth. _And now you are my new co-chair in the _Super Special Secret Birthday Party Committee_."

Xan straightened in alarm, and then rapidly began to cast a telepathy spell so that they could go over further details without being overheard.

...

* * *

When Ajantis and Shar-Teel returned, the two of them were quite battered. Aegis waved the paladin over to where she and Xan were surreptitiously cobbling Birthday Plans while Imoen was out checking her mail.

"The Fist investigated Viconia's farm kids and confirmed she's innocent," Aegis told him.

The paladin looked as if a millstone had been taken off from around his neck at these words. He straightened considerably, and his expression bloomed with relief.

"However, they also raided your room for scrying materials while we were out," Xan sighed. "I am not convinced they are done harassing Viconia. It is possible that they were able to find some affect of hers."

Ajantis straightened, but then rapidly shook his head. "That is unlikely. I asked Shar-Teel to hide Viconia's possessions in with her own. And I am very tidy," he explained, pulling out a wax paper packet from his belt. He unfolded the paper, and revealed to Xan a thick quantity of white hair. "And, out of admittedly juvenile amusement, I started tallying exactly how much hair was ending up all over the place."

Xan looked at the hair, and then up at Ajantis with a raised brow.

The paladin smiled slightly and shrugged. "I know you think my views on magic to be backwards, but I _did_ notice how frequently we use hair to track people down. It wasn't a great leap to realize other people could use hair to track _us_ down. I gave the room a thorough inspection yesterday, just to be safe."

"I think I would find this more odd if I myself had not started up my own collection," Xan remarked, drawing out a narrow piece of cardstock he had wound with individual hairs so as to keep better track of them. He had some of Imoen's, Kivan's, Dynaheir's, Jaheira's, and even Montaron's. "If you will do me the great honor of entrusting me with a white hair, perhaps I shall scry on our cleric promptly and see if she and Kivan will make it safely back to us..."

Aegis reasoned the strangest part of this had nothing to do with hair collection. Rather, it was that Xan and Ajantis_ weren't_ arguing.

...

* * *

"Are all Wild Elves as tall as you?" Viconia tested.

"Some," was Kivan's reply.

Viconia took in a slow breath, churning over the fact that Kivan had replied at all. A full night's worth of sleep must have helped to reassemble his thoughts. He'd been less troubled-looking that morning, that was for certain, and less violent in his gestures.

"Drow women are larger than Drow men," she began carefully, as a form of practice. "But I was always shorter than I ought to have been. It caused me some ridicule when I was young." Was it possible to have a discussion of herself and of her former life that did not immediately offend surfacer sensibilities?

"Drow are sized as are all beasts who live underground: small," Kivan retorted. "Like dwarven folk, but less pleasing in temperament."

Viconia eyed him, feeling more shrewd than irritable. Somehow, deliberately talking to a male she already knew had traded tact for martial talent made it easier for her to manage how easily _she _became offended. Perhaps his inapproachability made him the perfect practice dummy? As long as she did not antagonize him in turn...

Viconia sighed. "Things Kivan likes more than he likes me: Dwarves. What else? Foot fungus? Diarrhea? Stubbing one's toe? Bandits? Surely bandits."

"I have fought alongside dwarven folk many times. In war. As caravan guards," Kivan told her. "I despise their greed, and I am not fond of their warrens, or of any place devoid of trees or sun. I leave crawling about blind in darkness after gold to the stouter folk. But in general I have found them to be loyal allies; and to hold to their word. They are much better people than drow."

Viconia shrugged. "So they are," she admitted begrudgingly. "Repulsive as they might be shaped."

He glanced at her. She raised a brow, and then realized she was being asked to explain her stance.

"I was pursued out of Menzoberranzan. And a dwarvish clan, the Bloodaxe, let me pass through its territory," she recalled. "Nothing in my upbringing had ever mentioned dwarves as anything but thieves, soldiers, and refuse, and I would not have approached them if I had been given any other choice. It was either to walk up to their tunnels, or else turn back into the arms of my siblings. And since then I have lived frequently as a result of random twists or unexpected mercies. I came to thank Shar for watching over me in those times."

He eyed her doubtfully. "You ought to have been pinioned by crossbow bolts on sight. Why did they even speak to you?"

"I don't know. Perhaps because I was unarmed, bloody, and naked. The sight of my helplessness may have been strange enough to warrant questioning; not many people in my predicament actually _escape _their captors, and certainly none of them blunder up into the upper dark or into dwarvish caverns."

Kivan's eyes narrowed in puzzlement, and he looked back to the trail.

"The dwarves didn't exactly treat me gently, but it was better than I would have suffered at the hands of drow. In retrospect, they probably did not consider me much sport. In any event, their priests came to question me, and I told them that the Spider Queen had demanded my head for infidelity, and that my siblings could not possibly turn back until they had secured my remains.

"The Bloodaxes displayed no fear of my kindred, only excitement and bloodlust. Seeing this, I asked if they would use me as bait, and then I volunteered what I knew of my pursuit. Of course, I had every expectation that I would also be executed. But when my siblings were dead, and the Bloodaxe clan had earned a new necklace of drow ears, they turned me loose into their southern tunnels. They also gave me clothing, a mace, and enough food and water for three days. I was told that I would be killed on sight if I lingered, and I did not question their generosity."

Kivan looked back down at her.

Viconia mused on the memory, her gaze far-away and pensive. "While I speak highly of dark elves, it is only out of a romanticized nostalgia for a life that was familiar to me. I know better. I know better than anyone that they are all just rats in a heated cage."

...

* * *

Viconia grew nervous the closer the two of them trekked to Beregost, but it wasn't until Kivan signaled for her to stop walking an hug low against the roots of a tree that she realized how close they must have been. He bounded ahead to assess their surroundings.

The drowess waited quietly.

But when Kivan returned, he had three figures in tow, and all of them were familiar: Aegis, Xan, and Ajantis. A strange sensation rose in her gut, a sensation that felt akin to _nostalgia _but somehow wasn't quite right. Feeling unsteady, she rose to her feet and stepped out to meet her party members.

Aegis sighed happily. "You've been acquitted. Good to see you unscathed, Viccy."

Ajantis didn't waste words. He stepped immediately up to the drow and, to Viconia's confusion and embarrassment, he clasped her in a hug.

Xan looked knowingly over at a somber looking Kivan. [My friend,] he called. The Wild Elf looked at him. [Thank you.]

Kivan snorted. [For her?] He growled, and looked bitterly off at nothing.

Xan's countenance brightened at the rich sound of Kivan's voice. He moved past the others, and came up to settle an arm on the archer's shoulder. [Can we go for a walk?]

Kivan almost glared at him. [I don't want to speak.]

The enchanter beamed. [Would you perhaps listen to a story over wine and ale, then?]

The Wild Elf blinked, realizing he'd never seen Xan _smile_ so much. He turned to face Xan for a moment, studying the Moon Elf's face. [Branwen?] Xan smiled more. Kivan's eyes widened. After a moment's hesitation he seized Xan by the arm and hauled him off to get that ale.

Viconia, who was currently blushing and being squished by a paladin, looked from the departing elves to Aegis. "What was that?" she demanded about Xan in a valiant attempt to ignore the confusing affections of her exuberant roommate. Ajantis slowly relinquished her.

"Gloomy elf bonding time, I guess," Aegis chuckled as the drow's eyes narrowed. "Let's get some dinner," she offered, coming up and patting the petite cleric on the back. "You're alright, then? You have no _idea_ how worried we all were."

"I was absolutely fine, and am no child to warrant so much concern," the drow sniffed disdainfully from between her much taller companions. "The darthiir was disagreeable at times, but I managed."

Ajantis smiled down at her, and drew out her flail which he had somehow recovered. She took it with a muttered grunt of thanks. "You should have seen Aegis, Jaheira, and Xan shouting Officer Vai out of the tavern. I thought they were going to attack her. I'm afraid I was quite paralyzed and useless by comparison."

"Jaheira?!" Viconia protested. "The half-blooded leaf mutt?!"

"Aye! Look who's grown to be everyone's favorite healer!" Aegis teased playfully, squeezing the cleric's shoulder. "Well, at least until she says things like _that _to their faces."

Viconia grumbled, flustered, and wasn't certain _what_ to say.

...

* * *

Xan and Kivan had apparently gone off to talk, and it stood to reason the Wild Elf might have then accompanied Xan to the Red Sheaf, if only for emotional support. The Wild Elf had Imoen's bowstaff, or so Viconia testified, and for the plucky pink thief in question, this was a huge relief. It would have been wretched trying to explain to her Da how she'd lost the weapon...!

As evening drew nearer, Shar-Teel suggested that Imoen ought to go to Feldpost's with her to get away from all the awkward stares of party members. This sounded like a fine idea, so Imoen bounded upstairs to find her cloak and then hopped down again to wait out on the porch for Shar-Teel.

There, surprisingly, she found Edwin, whom had gone missing on her a short while previously. He was leaning against a wall on the far side of the Juggler's porch, reading a letter. He didn't notice her approach, and when Imoen glimpsed the Rauric characters of Mulhorandi, she wagered the letter must have been from his father. Ooh! She leaned closer, closer, trying to catch a peek...

{Gah! Where the hells did you come from!?} Edwin protested in alarm, scrunching up the letter in one hand, and rapidly gesturing to rewind a half-triggered contingency spell. {Cease sneaking up on me like this!}

{From your right! Never! Let me see!} Imoen demanded of the letter.

{What? No! Do I demand to see your private correspondences? The last time I so much as inquired as to them, I received an evasive answer about cheese...}

{That wasn't evasive; I totally write about cheese! Oh come on, let me see! Let me at least see his penmanship? I'm curious!}

{Go be curious somewhere else, then!} the wizard snarled, moving to stuff away the letter. He didn't get the parchment one inch into the tuck of his robes before Imoen had snatched it deftly straight out between his fingers. Her movement was so quick that it took him a moment to even realize she'd taken it. {Kwefai!} he snarled, looming over her as she greedily unraveled the letter an inch.

{So severe his strokes are!} she laughed, turning her back to the wizard and playing keep-away from him as she inspected the signature of the letter. {I've never seen your name written before! Is this it?} Names did not always translate well between languages with alphabets and languages with characters. Individual names amounted to the largest body of Mulhorandi characters she could neither write nor read; and she was to understand that even native speakers often used the Infernal alphabet to write transliterations instead.

{Kwef-! Give-! ...Yes,} he growled, his nails settling in place upon her arms and shoulders.

{Why are there three characters?} she asked him, puzzled.

He heaved an angry sigh. {Because in Mulani culture, even brief correspondences between younger and older family members are expected to be composed in a formal fashion. The convention used here is warm; the first name, middle, and then last name; Edwin Nythra Odesseiron. There, are you satisfied?}

{Your middle name is Nythra?} she cackled, delighted.

{Give me that letter!} He grabbed for the paper, and she flicked it away from his grasping fingertips.

{Why? Is it filled with your diabolical plans?} she teased him. {C'mon, Edwin what can't I see?}

{Anything for which I do not voluntarily extend viewing privileges to you!} he snapped. {What is with these suspicions and half-veiled accusations!? Can you not at least affect a modicum of respect for my being in even so small a matter as my personal letters?!}

Imoen eyed him. Her gaze slid away and then back as if she were considering the accusation. Then, after a moment of contemplation, she deftly re-raveled the letter and offered it back to him.

He took it with a bitter snatch. {Thank you!_ Gods_, you can be so annoying!}

Imoen winced. {Okay, so maybe this was that the wrong way for me to demonstrate I'm worried for you,} she suggested apologetically. {But you did previously believe you couldn't get out of your mission... Are you still ironing out the details back home?}

Edwin huffed. {Nothing that could not have been easily avoided in you bargaining with me over a woman we now know was willing to sacrifice you,} he muttered, eyeing the closed letter almost vacantly. Then he looked back at her. {Did you want anything in specific when you tailed me out here, waif?}

{Oh, just to bother you, of course,} she delivered smoothly. {Actually, Shar-Teel and I are headed out to Feldposts to carouse away from all the adults. Do you want to come?}

Edwin sneered and waved her off. {Be back by ten,} he snapped irritably.

{Ha! Yeah right!} she snickered, and hopped off at the sound of Shar-Teel's footsteps.

The Red Wizard stiffened slightly, staring after her. Then he glared bitterly down at his letter, and his mouth twitched.

...

* * *

Shar-Teel was either about to elicit a duel or start a bar fight, Imoen noticed, as she watched the fightress nag people halfway across Feldpost's. A grin spread over the pink thief's face, and she considered trotting over to relieve a few 'overly masculine thugs' of their coin purses.

"That is _disgraceful_," Eldoth remarked over his wine as he took a break between songs.

"I _like_ her," Imoen cackled. "She's _nasty_, in all the right ways."

Eldoth rolled his eyes dramatically and gave a heavy sigh. "You have terrible taste in friends for such a pretty, pretty girl," he bemoaned.

"Says a scald, who is _very nearly_ my friend, and who hails from a land of pirate raiders, epic ballads, and a lot of over-the-top bar fighting," Imoen cackled. Eldoth pouted at her, clearly offended by this interpretation of his origins. "Hey, we'll be setting to work just as soon as a week of rest is out. Do you plant to tag along?"

"I suppose I shall," he mused. "I might accidentally end up compounding this reputation you've written for me as a shiftless freeloader, otherwise."

"Well you could just tell me what ever _else_ it is that you're after," Imoen remarked slyly. "That would sure make everything a lot easier."

"_Easier? _Now where would be the fun in _that, _I wonder?" the bard protested with a wink. "I promise you it's nothing too wretched or terrible. Now, if you'll excuse me, it is time for me to earn my keep in the second-to-least tedious fashion I know of." He stood and patted her head. "Wish me luck, mm?"

Imoen waved him as he picked up his lute and returned to the stage. Shar-Teel had already stepped outside to beat some men into new gender roles, but perhaps there was a good mark over by-

Her thoughts were interrupted by an unexpected exclamation:

"Why! If it isn't the Realms' cutest purple rogue, come to steal all our hearts away!" Imoen perked up and twisted about at the familiar voice. She was too late. "C'mere, you!" Than a forearm latched about her collar and she was on the receiving end of a noogie!

"_Coran_!" she squealed delightedly, struggling to try and get free of the pin. "You leave my hair alone!"

"Ha! Now what is this, what is this?" The elf (for that was what he was) released his hold and swept about to stand before her, a grin stretching from pointy ear to pointy ear as he leaned forward to inspect her countenance. He was as carefree and attractive as Imoen remembered him, with his hair fringed on one side and an elaborate racoon mask of tribal knot patterns tattooed around his eyes. "Why, Imoen, I do believe your hair is pink." He tugged on a curly lock. "However has this come to happen?"

"My friend bought me the dye!" she laughed, raking her hair back into a semblance of order. "Ya like it?"

"Suits your disposition mightily, most mischievous little lady," he praised, and he stole a smooch at her brow.

Imoen giggled, leaning back from the rogue and pushing him off of her. "Well! I see you're back in Beregost. What happened to 'Just Passing Through,' mmm?"

"Perhaps your pretty playfulness has charmed me, and called me back a pace to see what you and yours might be up to, eh?"

"Let's see, let's see..." she tapped her fingers together as she inspected him. "Aha! I've got it! You have some incredibly deadly scheme for procuring funds, and heard we were on the lookout for money! Am I right?"

He staggered backwards and clutched his chest as if wounded. Then a laugh burst from his lips, and he hopped back up to her and took her hands with a graceful nod of defeat. "I concede; you've figured me out! Well then, would you like to hear my proposal, or shall I butter you up some more first?"

She laughed, " My sister's the party leader; you should talk to her."

"The tall blonde with curly hair, who looks like she could break a man in half? Hmm. Well, let's see, is she as susceptible to butter as you are?"

"No, no, I'm afraid not. She's in love, you see; it gives a woman armor against the likes of you."

"Now you've truly wounded me! I may love with all the depth of a china plate, but there is no man who can love quite as fiercely!" His eyes lowered to half mast and he grinned conspiratorially and playfully. "Or does my pretty, pink imp think to wound my ego in denying firsthand knowledge of this?"

Imoen grinned cheekily back at him. "Well her boyfriend is a jealous necromancer who keeps asking if he can pickle elf eyes, so..."

Coran was quiet a moment. "I concede defeat," he announced in understanding, "And wish them a long and happy life. Free of creepy lich sex, although I suppose it's not my right to judge..."

Imoen burst out laughing. "Tell me your scheme, then, you shallow, silly elf. If it's a good one, maybe I'll tell her about it."

"Absolutely." He grabbed a nearby bar stool. "And_ I_ am not shallow; I am a free spirit. Now, let's see, my scheme, my scheme. Hmm, may I buy you a drink to kick off the telling?"

"I bet you it will take all of two sentences for me to explain the scheme to me."

"Good gods, you heartless woman; will you not at least pretend to play with me!? Who can an adventuring thief rely on to humor them, if not another adventuring thief!?"

Imoen cackled and leaned over to kiss his cheek. Coran beamed. "I'll play, but you know I have a rule. And you won't be the one who gets me to break it!"

"Well why not?" he demanded, easing a hand about the small of her back and waving for the bartender to bring her a drink. "I'm a terribly ideal person to break your one-man, one-evening-only streak with. I am _certain- _though correct me if I am wrong- that I am able to deliver _entirely_ superior evenings."

"Entirely," she agreed with a wink. "But nope!"

"Scoundrel of a girl!" he chastised, tapping her nose. "Stealing men's hearts like that! One might start to think of you as a rakeette if this keeps up...!"

"What!? You've a heart to steal?" she asked as if in awe.

"Of course! I'm just very good at filching it back again, and, anyway, its a consummate escape artist. Besides, I didn't specify which men's hearts, now did I?" He winked and ordered a wine for them to share.

...

* * *

Coran was getting dangerously close to earning himself an exception to Imoen's rule, and they both knew it. She had let him pour her a second glass of wine as he regaled her with tales of his adventures since their last meeting, and indeed mention of the 'scheme' had altogether yet to be reached.

Shar-Teel had reentered the inn with a grin on her face and a coin purse in her hand. She found Imoen and caught sight of Coran, and raised a brow in surprise. Then she gave an amused smirk, and went on to find further entertainment of her own.

Imoen watched the elf with suspicious amusement for the most part, but gave a genuine guffaws whenever he managed to slip a good joke in between pantomiming. There was a part of her that wanted to turn him out on his rump for even trying to win this argument, But there was another part that honestly wanted to be charmed, if he could manage it.

He _was_ managing it. Coran was adorable, flirty, confident, and one of the few people she'd ever met who wanted to hear the entirety of her adventure stories before inviting her up for bed. He loved an excellent narrative. Somehow that made him much more personable.

Besides, when was the last time she'd had another thief around to play with?

"And that was how I earned my new longsword," Coran finished the telling. "_Beautiful_ thing."

"You don't appear to be armed with anything but knives, Coran," she teased. "Which are much shorter and less impressive, I'd say."

"Oh but that's because it's upstairs, with my bow," he told her slyly as he leaned close and sipped from his cup. "If you'd like to see it, I could go up and fetch it for you. Or, well, you could accompany me and-"

"You'd show her quite a number of different weapons, no doubt, each less impressive than the last," butted in a wizard.

Coran looked up in surprise and Imoen narrowed her eyes thoughtfully out at nothing as clawed fingers settled on her shoulder.

"Pardon me?" the elf wondered, bemused.

"No, I shall not," Edwin repled. "That offer needs extensive work, and mayhaps a little more poetry; this one is a helpless romantic. Or sweets, try sweets."

"Erm..." Coran glanced at Imoen curiously. "Who am I addressing?"

"I am her party member, fool. Now flit off and bother some other buxom strumpet while I talk to her about matters a trite more interesting than the size of your swords."

Coran raised a brow up at the wizard, clearly more entertained by this sudden interruption than anything else. "It wouldn't really matter if you were her brother, father, lover, or a Duke of Baldur's Gate; I'm rather certain the Lady has a right to decide her own interests," he replied jovially. "She can and will turn me out when, where, and how she wishes to."

Imoen tilted her head back as an angry wizard's claws tightened against her shirt. "Hello, Edwin. Mind telling me why you are trying to scare away my date?" She was growing wise to this behavior, and perhaps a little curious.

Coran beamed happily, as he was now officially her date and that was already a win in his book even if he failed to solicit amorous attention that evening.

Edwin scowled. "And here I thought you might have developed a finer palette by now. Is it brunettes you like, or are you shallow for all colors?"

Imoen was taken aback. "You're critiquing my sense of taste? Edwin, you pay for women, none of whom are extremely deep."

"Well," the conjurer's mouth twitched, "some are... deeper than others... Tighter, too."

Coran frowned, his brows coming together as he sat back and folded his arms across his chest. He glanced over to Imoen to make sure she needed no rescue, and saw to his relief that she seemed amused more than anything. He might have known! The little minx rarely let anyone get the best of her.

"But that is neither here nor there," The Thayvian continued, "What I do to pamper myself has little relation to how you strut about throwing your loins at whomever can charm them from you."

"What, because you pay?" Imoen asked cheekily. "It seems all I have to do is pay for my dates, and then you and I would be equal."

Edwin laughed, and settled into the seat at her other side. "Of course not. I am a man, and you are a woman. These fools should be paying _you_. But if you want to be the village horse, by all means-"

"Hold that thought," Imoen instructed him, getting up from her seat.

Edwin scowled. "Sit down, I want to talk to you. About camping arrangements and study habits, mostly."

"Just a sec," Imoen promised with a charming smile, and then she scooped her pack off the ground and fished around in her Bag of Holding.

Edwin glared at her in surprise, wondering what trick she was about to pull. Coran had a notion this was about to turn _fantastic_, and that he ought to distract the wizard to buy her a few seconds of implementation time.

So the elf glanced at Edwin just long enough to get the wizard's attention. Then he very pointedly lowered his gaze to Imoen's feet, and slowly let his eyes wander up the shapely length of her body. The Red Wizard stiffened, his mouth pressing into a sharp and angry line. Coran looked up from his inspection, gave an amused little smile, and then returned to contemplating a voluptuous thief's rear end. It was a _lovely_ rear end, after all. The Thayvian's nails tightened into the bar counter.

"Aha!" Imoen proclaimed, drawing out a handsome strap of leather that had been embroidered in golden thread. "There it is!"

Edwin was clearly fuming when he looked back up at her. "What is that?" he tried to keep his voice under control.

"Oh, you know, nothing," Imoen said as she righted the strap and moved to thread it about herself. "Just a belt we found once. A cursed belt, actually." She clasped it shut. Instantaneously her form changed. Her breasts disappeared, her hips narrowed, her various physical measurements shifted, and her face became leaner with a stronger chin and thinner lips.

The conjurer recoiled physically from her in surprise.

Imoen grinned at him and leaned over him and the bar both to grab her drink, and he cringed reflexively. "A cursed belt of gender change! Tada!" she proclaimed in a low, rough, boyish voice. "I'm glad you finally convinced me to go through with this! It's great! Now I'm going to seek out every man with these here particular preferences, pay them for their services, and then I'll be just like you! Sorta? Should I sleep with women, too? Have I told you lately how great a mentor you are, Edwin? Hee!"

Edwin stared at her. In mute, unadulterated, wide-eyed horror.

"This can be my alter ego, _Him_oen! Hey, um, you'll give me some advice on how to use _it_ properly, right Maestro? I think I could totally get used to having a pecker!" She grinned at Coran. "Coran! Do you swing both ways by any chance?"

"Hanali, but I am tempted," the elf admitted, a fascinated grin stretching wide across his face.

Edwin gaped at Coran, then at her, and then twisted about in his seat to address the tavern. "By all the gods, tell me there is a cleric in this establishment who can cast _Remove Curse!_" he shouted worriedly.

Shar-Teel took notice of them. Then she did a double tank, and raised a brow.

"What!" Imoen exclaimed delightedly. "But Eeedwwinnn what's wrooonnnggg? Aren't you happy for me, that I've finally ascended into the ranks of the superior gender?" she cooed, stepping into him.

Edwin looked back at her/him quickly, like a frightened and cornered animal. "I never said- I never-!" His eyes widened again as she came closer, and her legs brushed up against his. "Imoen-! Whatever you are doing, _cease immediately_!" He tried to backpedal, but he was already in a chair and there was nowhere to go. "Return your bosom to its proper inflation _at once_ before-! GAH!"

She plopped her rump in his lap and draped an arm and wine glass about his shoulder and neck. Edwin fell back hard against the back of his chair, and his jaw drooped. "Nowwww," she purred with faux drunkenness, "what did you want to talk to me about, hmmmm?" She ground her hips back and forward, and Edwin turned red to match his cloak. "Were you perhaps trying to replace my date? Well after that commentary about the different genders, I guess you _must_ like men!"

"_What!?_ No!" the Thayvian shouted in furious, hysteric dismay, trying not to touch her any more than she was already touching him. "Remove your posterior from my person before I light you on-!"

Then Imoen kissed him, smothering out his terrified and disgusted shriek.

Somewhere, a bard's song went awry, Shar-Teel broke out howling with laughter, and an elvish thief collapsed into a fit of giggles.

...

* * *

Edwin did not linger at Feldpost's to see the curse removed, but he certainly made sure to pay a Helmite priest to perform the service. He threw one last enraged look back at her (and at Coran), and then stalked off into the ill weather still wiping at his mouth.

Once she'd been put to rights, Imoen had been forced to admit that she was a little tipsy, and Coran suggested they go for a walk.

"Gods that felt good," she cackled, her arm looped in the taller thief's as they headed out into the evening drizzle. "I was holding on to that card for so long, not knowing what to do with it!"

Coran was still laughing too. "That was _mean_, Imp." He steadied her elbow to make sure she didn't trip.

"Ha! Hee hee, but he deserved it!" Imoen snickered, because Edwin honestly _had_.

The elf winked conspiratorially at her.

The minutes passed. As the duo of thieves continued to walk, a somberness settled down on Imoen. Her brows came together in thought, and she bit her lower lip. Abruptly, she didn't feel so good. "Hey... Coran?" she spoke up.

"Yes, little Imp?"

"I... I really enjoyed talking with you tonight but... I... I don't really think I can _sleep_ with you. Which isn't to say-!"

Coran patted her hand reassuringly. "I know," he admitted.

"Uh, you do?" she blinked.

He chuckled. "Aye, but it's never a wasted moment when one has a lovely lady at one's side, and so the companionship is appreciated."

She perked up a little in surprise. "Really? Cause, er, I sorta feel like I led you on..."

"I am more discerning than you imagine," he promised with a wink. "Although, I would be _delighted_ if you were to change your mind, of course. There's a whole lot of women in Beregost, but only _one_ kindred." He tapped her nose.

A big grin worked its way over her face. "You're not bad, silly elf, you know? Not a whit. You're completely shallow and I took you for a lecher the first time, but now I'm realizing you're_ precisely_ as friendly as you affect to be."

He chuckled a little bashfully. "Well! If you and I will not be sleeping together this evening, I've a request to make of you." He gestured out to the wider world. "Would you perhaps consider being my wingman as we make our way to our next bar? We might find all sorts of nefarious lechers clinging to beautiful woman, and I would have a very difficult time rescuing said damsels alone!"

"Hmm," Imoen mused suspiciously. "_Actually..._ I might have a better idea entirely. Tell me, Coran, do ya have much experience buttering up emotionally unavailable, paranoid, bad tempered women with sordid pasts?"

"Oh _dear_. That sort of question leaves me _incredibly curious_, I'll have you know."

"Well?" she prodded.

"I can most _certainly_ be warm for two," he told her. "Now whom is this woman you are speaking of? I demand an explanation."

"Oh... Well... That depends. How, um, how do you feel about... _drow_?" she continued, mischievously.

His eyes widened. "By the look on your face, I am about to reconsider my stance on the issue," he uttered, fascinated.

"Well I _may_ just happen to know a rather interesting woman who's been _used_ one time too many, and who has deflected enough lecherous advances that she has a tough time opening up to anyone. In fact I'm sure she's only gotten laid twice since I met her." Imoen blinked. "Come to think of it, it's probably making her _cranky_..."

Coran searched her face uncertainly. "Is... is this woman..._ beautiful_?"

"Oh she's drop-dead gorgeous," Imoen confessed. "Not that it's done her any favors..."

Coran grabbed her shoulders and shook her. "Lead the way, Imoen! Hurry, hurry! There's a sexually deprived ice queen out there somewhere, in desperate need of aid, and I appear to be the _only_ qualified vagabond in town!"

...

* * *

Edwin was still wiping at his mouth in disgust when he reached the brothel. His shoulders were shaking with fury, and the girls knew better than to throw themselves at him outright.

The brothel had an altogether different atmosphere from the inns.

It was almost decadent for humble Beregost, and though it paled in comparison to any proper house of courtesans, it still managed to cater to pleasure. Most of the furniture and wall hangings were carved artistically, and every surface was strewn with plush, embroidered pillows. The women served wine and ale in silver cups, and walked glittering about in thin and chiming veils of trinkets. Their bodies were oiled and perfumed ,and often shaven and powdered for the sake of appearing young.

It was a place for minor nobility and wealthy merchants as they passed through town.

Incense burned in the rafters of the building, jasmine and other flavors that made the air rich and carried away ill smells. The tables were sit with minor artistic pieces, and with aphrodisiac foods such as oysters, pomegranates, and olives; all that suggested the appearance of wealth. A young girl played the harp, and another danced with cymbals as she enticed men.

He took the wine he was brought, and drank his fill. He took his time. It was a good atmosphere for becoming calm in, particularly when the staff and madonna _both_ knew how well he'd pay for good stress relief.

What he had drunk his fill and eaten a bit he selected the girl of his choosing. He felt her, to ensure he knew what he was getting, and then he let her lead him across the common room towards the private chambers in the back.

As he went, a scent snaked out to him from one of the tables.

Edwin did a double take, and then nearly nearly crawled out of his skin upon seeing one of the aphrodisiacs.

...

* * *

"Viccy!" Imoen called, making her way up to the tail end of the bar where Viconia was heavily cowled and bent over a mug. She had apparently escaped death by paladin-smothering, and convinced Ajantis to keep an eye on her from a distance instead.

"Yes, little bat, what do you want?" the cleric growled tiredly.

Coran straightened immediately at the sound of her husky voice. Imoen rolled her eyes at the elf and then decided to play:

"But I think I have that 'male' you requested the 'services' of, mistress!"

It must have said something about how rarely Viconia had sex, or at least about how tired she was after handling Kivan for three days, that she did in fact turn around to see what Imoen was pestering her for. What she saw was an armed and armored _darthiir_, of course. Her eyes widened and she grabbed her hood to pull it down over her face. "Imoen!" she spat hatefully, knowing she'd been seen and placing a hand swiftly on the handle of her flail. "What is _wrong_ with you!?"

Coran's lips parted. Viconia hesitated. Imoen beamed knowingly at both of them.

Then the elvish thief stepped slowly forward. His motion alarmed the drowess, who stood and drew the flail part way from her belt. But Coran lifted his empty palms just a few inches, in a placating manner, like a man who was approaching a cornered beast. Carefully, deliberately, he stepped closer and knelt that he might peer up under her hood.

Viconia jerked back an inch, startled, and quickly looked away and pulled her hood askance to deny him. The elf tilted his head to the side, and then darted forward in complete silence to close the space between them

Viconia tensed in alarm as she felt he'd reached past her guard and into her personal space. He was so silent! How had she not heard him moving closer!? But the elf's fingers only brushed gently against the hem of her hood, as if wordlessly asking for permission to see. Viconia looked at him in surprise, and found him staring down at her almost wondrously.

Then he leaned back, and smiled almost as innocently as Imoen might. "May I have the pleasure of sitting and drinking beside you?" he queried, reaching for the stool beside her.

Viconia shot a confused look at Imoen and then looked uncertainly back up at the darthiir. "You are an _elf_," she sputtered.

"And you are _lovely_. Can I really help wanting to go through the evening all _smug,_ as one of the only people in this shack who has the privilege of knowing I'm sitting beside a goddess?" He waved for the bartender, and then took a seat so as to become less threatening.

Viconia looked incredulously to Imoen, who laughed and shrugged. "Don't worry, I screened him! Actually, I don't even think _Shar-Teel _minds him, and that's saying something!" She turned and poked Coran's shoulder. "You be good! No letting anything happen to my party cleric, got it?"

"Oh, Imoen, I will be _so much better_ than 'good,'" he murmured solemnly, taking his wine as it came. "I will be a _saint."_

"Hehe! Okay then, have fun kids!" the pink girl chirped.

"Imoen-!" Viconia mumbled in bewilderment, but then the thief was gone and she'd been left with a complete stranger. An elvish stranger. A... handsome... stranger...? Viconia looked hesitantly over at the main group table, to where Ajantis had certainly noticed her and was waiting to see if she'd call for aid.

Coran smiled innocently at his wine, and did not look up lest he be caught staring and discomfort her. Viconia looked slowly back down at him.

"Who are you?" she demanded at last.

"My name is Coran, and I am an adventurer out of Tethyr. I'd call myself a dungeoneer, but when one compares my skill in disarming mechanical devices to Imoen's, well, I'm probably more noteworthy for my talent with the bow. And you, lady panther?"

"What is a panther?" she growled.

"A panther," he explained, "is a sleek, powerful feline, two meters in length and pitch black, whom men respect and fear for its stealth and hunting prowess. She strikes from the shadow and takes down her prey in one, quick, powerful bite of her jaws, and then drags it off into the canopy to dine at her leisure; and there's scarcely anything man or beast can really do to stop her."

The drow was silent a moment. "Viconia DeVir," she told him slowly, with a glance at her own seat.

Coran glanced innocently up at her, and smiled as he looked down again. "Would you permit me to buy you a drink, Lady DeVir?" he asked humbly. "Or am I being too bold with a woman I've just met?"

"Both," she muttered uncertainly, and took her seat.

...

* * *

Imoen had her feet kicked up and was leaning against the headboard of her cot, investigating some of the magical scrolls which Edwin had left her. She was trying to figure out how the _devil_ her Mage Armor had managed to turn pink, of all colors. It had certainly been a goofy coincidence.

Judging by the fact that Edwin wasn't downstairs, she'd probably provoked him into seeking out some whore to reaffirm his masculinity with. Which was absolutely silly, but totally Edwin. No matter! He didn't usually take more than an hour, and he'd probably be in a much better mood when he got back. She'd just wait for him and then maybe they could figure out what she'd done 'wrong' with the spellcrafting.

It was only about a half hour later when the door to her room opened, and she looked up to see that Edwin had returned. His gaze was focused on nothing in particular, his brows were furrowed, and he seemed to be deep in thought.

"Heya!" she called. "You didn't forget to _bathe_ before coming back, right?"

Edwin paused and blinked at her, his face momentarily empty of expression. He was carrying a wicker basket under one arm, and she tilted her head to the side. Had he gone shopping? No, by the stink of perfume wafting across the room, he'd _definitely_ gone to the brothel. Incense tended to linger unpleasantly on his robes for hours afterwards, like tobacco smoke.

Edwin turned back and closed the door behind him. "You've returned early as well, " he noted grimly. "What happened to the elf?"

Imoen shrugged. "Eh, I decided to pass, and came back here to study. You're right; I need to apply myself if we're going to be in tip-top shape for Cloakwood and the Horned Knight and whatever else comes our way. I saw you'd headed off, but then reasoned I'd just ask about this stupid crazy sideways sigil when you got back." She glared at her book.

The Red Wizard didn't move for a moment. Then his gaze slowly lifted back to her, and he stared as if spooked or otherwise disturbed.

Imoen glanced back up at his silence, and raised her brows. "Edwin?" This was not the demeanor she typically associated with a post-brothel Thayvian.

The conjurer said nothing. After a moment he crossed the room, paused again when he reached their bedside table, and watched her almost searchingly. When she couldn't think of anything to say to him, he leaned over and quietly settled down the basket he'd been holding. She pulled her gaze from his, glanced down at the basket, and saw that it was filled with strawberries glazed in sweetened cream. She looked back up at him uncertainly.

"Let me see," he suggested quietly, reaching out for her study materials as he took his seat upon the cot beside her.

...

* * *

[Author's Note]

I thought to cut off the chapter at the genderbent prank, but it just seemed too convenient. And it would have left the wrong final impression XD. So I chopped out about 5,000 words, and stored some of them away for later, so that I could fit in the vitally important follow-up scenes where Viconia makes a friend and these two dum-dums both finally get a clue ;)


	23. A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To

This chapter is rated M for Good Things.

Note that I might take a break soon; I'm not sure. There's something else I'm supposed to be working on XD. Make sure you've favorited or followed or however it is you prefer to track updates, in case I go quiet.

...

* * *

_**A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To an Argument...**_

...

* * *

Imoen clambered out of the oceanic depths of slumberland all on her own that morning.

She found herself in precisely the situation in which she'd fallen asleep: wrapped up in a Thayvian, with two arms clasped about her sidesand a knee thrown over her calf. His lower arm had probably gone numb, but he slept soundly.

Her fingers moved hesitantly over his sleeve, and then trailed up smooth silk to his shoulder. The robes were richly, almost garishly red, even in the dim morning light.

She found that face was tucked up against the nape of her neck, and hidden partially behind the rise of her upturned shoulder. She brushed her knuckles hesitantly against his jawline, and then slowly eased her palm to cup the side of his face.

_Don't wake up... Don't wake up..._

Her thumb slipped over the prickling texture of ungroomed facial hair, and found the shape of an angular cheekbone and the edge of an eyelash.

Imoen took a shaky breath, closed her eyes, and held him to her.

Well, they done needed to have a _talk_. About a heck of a lot of things. And based on previous experiences in talking with Edwin about hard topics, Imoen doubted any _lick_ of it would go smoothly.

...

* * *

"Xanistri- um."

"Xan-is-_teir..._"

"Xanis...teir?"

"...i-al."

"...ial... Xanist... Xan-is-_teir_-i-al. Xanis_teir_ial...!"

"There, that's it exactly," Xan praised, and he was surprised to find that Waelen accents made for surprisingly attractive elvish. "Though you must realize I hardly enjoy hearing it _used..._"

Branwen laughed from where she was braiding the elf's hair. "Xanisteirial. That's fine! I should at least know how to _say _it! Hoi! What a tongue twister. Are all elvish names unnecessarily long and winding, or is it just that I am I particularly bad at saying them?"

"Maybe just a bit of both. Though let's be frank here: _I_ couldn't say my own name until I was at least twenty or thirty. 'Xan' suits me fine."

The Norheimer laughed again. "Xanisteirial Feilien," she echoed a few times, making sure she had it remembered. "Feilien. So, how did your conversation with your uncle go last evening? You and Kivan didn't come back until late."

Xan straightened a bit, thinking back. "I was glad I spoke to Kivan just beforehand. And not just because he lurked around the tavern afterwards and gave me an incentive to stand up for myself lest I find an ill-tempered Wild Elf growling protectively from over my shoulder."

"You seem to get along with him well. Kivan." She was trying not to make disparaging remarks about his Uncle.

"Elves tend to share a cultural pool of ideas, speech patterns, and natural instincts about the world. There might be a world of difference between Moon Elves and Wild Elves, but when Kivan speaks to me, there is great familiarity in his words. His reassurances came as if from another Moon Elf, and gave me the stability I needed to speak calmly and effectively to my uncle."

"Ah." Branwen felt she understood. There were certain people within the group whom she had connected better with than others; and though Shar-Teel was a spiritual mess, her fighter's fury was _familiar_ to the Norheimer. "What happens now?"

"My uncle will be returning to Everska. He will hand deliver a report to the Greycloaks which, admittedly, I should have written much sooner. And he will carry with him the news that I am alive and... and that Unteriael's remains cannot be recovered."

"... And that's it?" Branwen prodded.

Xan cleared his throat. "He has invited you to visit Everska and our family, with me, when this Crisis is over. Presuming we survive, of course."

Branwen contemplated this. "Is that... a good sign?" she wondered nervously. Suddenly she had a mental image of walking into a dainty house of tiny mouse-like elves. She was going to be the black sheep at that party, that was for certain.

"I... I think so. Yes. _Terrifying_, but good. Again, presuming we _survive-_"

"Don't try so hard to be dismal when you're not actually feeling dismal," she teased her lover, tugging gently on his hair and kissing the tip of his ear.

Xan pouted but then chuckled and hummed contentedly. He had deliberately refrained from asking Branwen if she intended to stay with him indefinitely, and she had responded in such a fashion that promised the question need never be asked. "Are you worried about them?" he asked after a short time.

"Well. I'm not the brightest match in the box, but I _have_ managed to pick up a good handful of human languages: Waelan, Thorasta, Illuskan... I was wondering if it might be worth trying to teach me some Elvish before this 'Terrifying Meeting'?"

The enchanter perked up thoughtfully. "We must get straight to work on this," he decided. "It will make it much harder for them to do that snobbish thing where they all start speaking in Elvish for no other reason than to isolate a non-speaker..." He looked up at her. "But worry not; if we do not make much progress, I will be able to cast a spell on you to comprehend foreign languages."

"Sounds like a plan," Branwen beamed. "Though after meeting your uncle, I got to thinking. Did he... did he have a heavy hand in raising you, perhaps?"

Xan glanced up at her in surprise. "You can tell that?"

"You're both just a wee bit dramatic," she admitted, holding up her thumb and forefinger with a compassionate wince.

The elf grimaced, but then laughed in admission of this truth. Then he looked down at his Moonblade's sheathe, and ran his fingers across it. "Have you heard stories about these? Moonblades. They are inherited down family lines, and bind to their masters for life," he explained, "but they are sentient, and choose whom is next to wield them. Ours disappeared for a long time. I never expected to find it. I certainly never expected to wield it."

Branwen picked up on his abrupt sorrow, and concluded that the weapon had most likely belonged to his father. After all, the man had not been mentioned previously either by Xan or in Uncle's long rambling list of inconsolable relatives. She decided that a change in topic was due. "Xan, I had another question."

He shook his head to clear it, and smiled thinly. "I am all ears."

"Aye, you definitely are," she agreed, tugging gently on one of them to his amused wince. "Alright. So what did your uncle mean by _betrothed_?"

"Ahhhh... Yes. That," the elf recalled, rubbing at his temple. "I was wondered if you'd remembered. I swear, when he blurted that out in front of you, I nearly had a panic attack. _Betrothed..._"

"Are you?" she asked, bewildered.

Xan shook his head. "I most certainly _am not_, but my attempts to explain the matter have fallen on deaf ears for years now. I suppose the quickest way to explain is to say that people saw what they wished to see- whatever would have been _normal-_ and went about preparing themselves for a union that would never actually happen."

Branwen couldn't help but chuckle. "Well, I figured it had to be _something_ like that. Good to hear it said, though!"

Xan sighed heavily. "I'll add this to my list of reasons for being thankful I'm in love with a very emotionally grounded and level-headed woman."

She hugged him reassuringly. "As cowardly as you might think yourself at times, you never shirk your responsibilities. And you wouldn't have fallen for me, or even been tailing after a boy before me, if you'd had someone waiting for you. But who's the girl, then?"

"Her name is Ilunise, and she is an Enchanter after the same school as myself," Xan explained. "I grew disillusioned with the mistress who trained us, but Ilunise worships her ideas almost as if they were a spiritual creed."

"What do you mean?"

"Esmerae, our mutual teacher, believes that world peace can be made possible by purging Faerun of secrecy, disinformation, lies, and other 'ugly thoughts.' She believes the only way to do this is to unite all people into a single consciousness, such that only beautiful thoughts remain and evil can no longer exist. When questioned as to what a 'beautiful thought' is, Esmerae seems to find the term self-evident, as if all people should instinctively know what it means.

"I was, regrettably, unsuccessful in convincing Esmerae that these ideas were unique to _her_. She spends her days fighting the good fight in an effort to convince her peers to go along with her plan to realize globalized love and harmony between all peoples.

"Knowing you, my Branwen, I am sure I do not need to explain why this philosophy of hers ought to sound _crazy _to anyone who hears it, and that you can understand why I no longer speak with Esmerae. This, despite my great appreciation for the education which she supplied me as an Enchanter.

"Enchantment is one of the few potent schools of magic which can disarm an enemy without bloodshed. It _is_ a great weapon for pacifists and... well.. perhaps that is part of what drew me to it. But the same traits which make it 'gentle' are also those which conceal its potential for abuse.

"Now Ilunise took her word as gospel, and converted entirely to the church of overly perfumed women who think that 'purging the world of individuality' and 'world peace' are somehow acceptable synonyms. Or even possible. Recently, Ilunise has also come into the belief that if she joins minds with me, she will be able to 'heal' me of my negative energy. I have thus far respectfully declined to participate in this experiment.

"Now you must understand that Ilunise and I are still friends, and that I would never want to see her shouted at or treated poorly. But our friendship exists in a very estranged way now. And we have certainly never been romantic partners. Yet when our families saw how much Ilunise 'cared' about me, and how much she wanted to 'help' me, they began to fabricate explanations.

"And by the time I realized what nonsense they had concluded, they were much more concerned with planning make-believe weddings than in hearing any long-winded explanation about the perils of enchantment and the subtle and charismatic ways one can avoid calling 'mind control' mind control.

"Most of the involved family members are not mages and cannot understand what I am talking about, and those who _can_ don't really believe me and instead call me paranoid."

"Yowch," Branwen half-laughed, half-winced. "What a stew that is!"

He chuckled, and tapped his spellbook. "While I thrive on the art of Enchantment, and would zealously defend the philosophy of my magic to you, I know well that my art requires restraint. I slip at times, but I also know self-improvement is a process. Even the best of intentions, if grounded in the wrong assumptions, can become terribly, terribly,_ terribly_ evil."

...

* * *

"Hey Edwin," Imoen called, hopping up to where the team was eating breakfast. "I need to go pick up a couple things around town. Wanna come shopping with me?"

"For what, exactly?" the conjurer asked disinterestedly, turning a page in his spellbook.

"It's very important," she told him matter-of-factly. "You see, I'm almost out of soap."

This was so _unimportant _that Edwin actually shot her a bemused reaction. "I'll pass," he snarked dryly, and then blinked when she flicked up up a thin and cracked bar of rose-colored soap between her fore and middle fingers. There were thick flakes of red embedded in it.

_Those are dried slices of fruit, _and he knew precisely which kind without needing a closer inspection. His back straightened and all expression fell from his face as his gaze flicked back to her. An evening and a sleeping arrangement which had endeavored to be forgotten were now abruptly held up to the light.

"But look how miserly it is!" Imoen protested of the bar "What if I run out? How will I wash myself? What if I end up having to smell of sandalwood, or pine, or butternut squash? It will be a travesty, I tell you! A travesty of a girl's personal hygiene!"

"Enough, enough...!" the wizard hissed in protest of her voice. He shut his spellbook with a snap and climbed to his feet. "I will accompany you if only to _silence_ you for fifteen blessed minutes."

"Thank you _Rek'herok_," she laughed in playful tune.

Jaheira stood with a sigh. "We'll accompany you," the druid said with a stretch. "I need to buy a few things myself."

As an expert in Pink Monkeys, Edwin concluded this has not been part of Imoen's plan. But the thief bounced past Jaheira's offer without raising a single eyebrow: "Okeydokey! I also need some fresh dye, come to think of it. And bleach, hmm."

Edwin wrinkled his nose. "For what, exactly?"

"My roots," Imoen explained, raking at her hair. "See? They're coming in brown; I need to dye them!"

He straightened. {You must certainly _will not,_} he muttered sternly.

Imoen thought this wasn't a great time to get in an argument with Edwin about something so silly, particularly given how many _serious_ arguments they were probably about to have. {Uh, Edwin, prohibitions are usually not the best tactic for negotiating with Immys.}

{It was foolish to dye it in the first place!} he chastised her. {You ought to have either glamored or simply transmuted the roots to express alternative pigments; not damaged it with _bleach! _Think, child, you are a _mage_. You need not resort to such plebian-}

{I'm totally dying it. Now more than ever. Maybe _twice_.} She'd been baited; it wasn't her fault!

{You will _not_!}

Jaheira sighed in annoyance at the realization that they were bickering, and waved for Khalid to join her. Kivan decided to follow.

Imoen grinned up at her wizard and crossed her arms over her chest. {I can't believe you think you have a leg to stand on in this argument. I'm going to dye it rainbow colored now! And then bleach it all and dye it again!}

Edwin pressed his mouth together. His lips twitched angrily, and his brows furrowed. Then he looked off at nothing.

His bad mood put her mind back on track. She inspected her bar of soap and then hopped closer to him and put her hands behind her back. {You knooowww... I've heard the sundries shop I was thinkin of headin too is run by a Gur Hedgewitch. You think she might have a spell for growing out a person's hair?}

Edwin twitched and glanced down at her.

Imoen scuffed her feet innocently. {A certain thief might be willing to... maybe... grow her colors back out? And let a wizardly friend employ his_ superior,_ dye-free approach to pinkifying her... _If_, of course, said wizard was equally willing to, ehm,} she smacked her lips thoughtfully, {grow his hair back out as well...?}

A moment passed in contemplative silence.

{Deal.}

...

* * *

The weather looked to be letting up a little bit, and Jaheira said it would be clear for a few hours in the early evening.

"It will be storming again by tomorrow," the druid muttered, glancing upward through the droplets. "Such unabatedly ill-tempered falls are unusual."

Kivan grunted, agreeing on both counts.

{Edwin?} Imoen called. {We need to talk.}

The wizard had collected himself, and did not look over her. {On what topic?}

{All of them?} she suggested. {Before something explodes and we lose the opportunity?}

{I'm sure I have no idea what you are referencing.}

Imoen's mouth tugged to the side, and she decided she'd start from the most obvious place. {We need to rent a bigger room,} she told him. {We're completely cramped in ours. Besides, I've got an itching for a big ole comfy feather bed.}

The wizard scoffed at her. {Larger rooms have single beds, little fool,} he sighed irritably.

{And?} she pressed. There, she'd aired the topic they'd both been ignoring.

Edwin sneered at her incredulously. {And add credence to the _ridiculous_ rumor that we are sleeping together? Are you somehow unaware the druid and enchanter both imagine such?}

Imoen raised both brows at him, expectantly. After a brief pause, she pointed out: {Edwin, we totally _are_ sleeping together. On a cot. Which is cramped.}

His upper lip curled more, and his nails curled angrily into his sleeves. {Hush. And you _know_ very well what I meant.}

{I am _not hushing_,} Imoen protested. {Come on Edwin, _talk_ to me. If we can't talk about this, we're totally already doomed from the start about like a thousand other issues we need to talk about!}

{There is nothing to discuss,} he said, turning his glare back out to the road they were following. {Silence and continue to walk, lest I return to the inn and my books and leave you out here alone in this miserable climate.}

Imoen grimaced painfully. {But we're going to end up _hurting_ each other!} she begged him earnestly, desperately.

He had formulated a sharp-edged retort before she'd even finished speaking. Of course. He was Thayvian and _of course_ that meant he lacked for feelings. But a moment passed in silence between them, and then another as they walked beside each other. Imoen digested his failure to speak.

{There are a lot of things on my mind, and a lot of things which concern you, which we really, really, really need to talk about,} Imoen broached. {But that's not going to happen if you can't level with me like an equal.}

{You are _not_ my equal, child. You are just a silly peasant who cannot keep her mouth shut.}

{Excuse me, but I'm surnamed the same as you, and it isn't for mercantile deeds,} she stressed.

{My mistake: a silly, _orphaned _peasant.} He was telling her to back down.

{My mother's name was Lady Alianna Olivia Winthrop. I was adopted by her second cousin, Lord Griswold Regar Winthrop, who was the rightful heir of a Duchy and who abdicated the title- apparently to go hunt vampires. I'm third in line for the Barony of Twins, even if I'll never see it, and my full name is Imoen Alianna Winthrop.

{So take _that_! And, by the way, I sorta just found all that out recently, and it's been stirrin' up a foul storm in my noggin, and I would _really like to talk about it _with my _best friend ever_, but he's too busy being a grumpy-grump sourpuss to even talk rooming arrangements with me, so clearly that isn't going to happen!}

A beat of silence.

{You are still not Thayvian.}

Imoen's jaw dropped and her brows came together. Then she elbowed him sharply. {And if I were, I wouldn't be Mulani; and if I were Mulani; I wouldn't be an Odesseiron, and if I were an Odesseiron; I'd be your younger sister, and if I were your sister you'd _still_ look down on me!}

{Succinctly put,} he growled. {So we've established it's not worth arguing over: You could _never_ be my _equal_.} He turned from her to keep walking.

{Oghma give me Ae's dad's patience- Edwin! Make an _exception_! _You_ need to talk to someone too, and I _know_ it because I've seen you when you're at your lowest!}

He laughed at her.

{You are trying to tell me you're not off balance?! Dyn met your mom!} she shouted after his back, and instantly all the lines of his body tensed. {_You_ met your mom! You broke down into a hysterical mess and then stalked off into the sunset two days later _without saying goodbye to me_ when you'd promised to, _after voluntarily letting me snuggle you so we'd stop nightmaring, _and then apparently you had a complete mental breakdown somewhere off in the forst and decided to turn a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree about-face to come find me again!

{You fucked up some vow you made to a _Zulkir _just to do that, which was so serious that you had to go running to Daddy to ask for help; not to mention how hard it was to kill your fellows and that you were _gutted_ by Dynaheir in the process- And now all you can visualize every time I walk out of eyesight is _The Lion's Way river rapids_!}

_"Frein biin kroslen strin nahlon thrum!"_ Edwin spat, whirling on her.

Kivan reached for an arrow by reflex. Jaheira tensed. Khalid blinked rapidly. Imoen, who had just been _Silenced_, planted her hands on her hips and glared daggers up at her Thayvian.

Edwin smirked, horribly, and then turned and kept walking. "Much better," he chuckled.

Imoen watched him, still glaring. Then she looked back at her traveling companions, and gave a huge sigh and a dramatic roll of her eyes. She gestured that they should keep walking, and then continued on her way to the shop.

[I see what you mean by insight,] Khalid whispered quietly to his wife.

...

* * *

Edwin paused momentarily in the doorway of the sundries shop which Imoen had led them to, and blinked in surprise at the 'Gur' woman who owned the shop.

She looked Rashemi, he noted; short and swarthy with thick hair that curled naturally. Even her clothing seemed loosely inspired by Rasheman, though it had clearly fought and lost a battle with an overzealous fortune teller. She wore a bandana to keep her hair back, and was draped in countless beaded sashes.

The whole shop smelled of herbs, Jaheira realized. Althaea leave and anise, predominantly, though a bit of burnt sage leaked through as well. The druid had met Gurs before, though usually in the company of circuses and theatrical troupes. They were typically nomadic, and it was rare to see one tether themselves down to solid walls. What had Imoen called her? A Hedgewizard or Hedgewitch?

Gorion had given little credence to such magicians, but Jaheira had once assured him there was some sanity to their herbal draughts and crystal collections, and he had trusted in her expertise. She doubted Edwin would be impressed with the shopkeeper; and doubted further he'd trust in anyone's expertise but his own.

Then again, it seemed Edwin was too humored by Imoen's silence to focus on anyone else. His lips were twisted into a perpetual smirk as he entered the store and fingered through the cantrips, potions, herbs, candles, and oils which were on display. He started critiquing and cataloging what he was looking at out loud, and it seemed he was speaking entirely to rub in how Imoen _couldn't_.

Imoen seemed to be ignoring him, however. She peered through bars of soap and scented candles, waiting patiently. And then, at last...

{Edwin, we _need_ to talk,} a thief informed him just as soon as the spell broke.

{I silenced you once, girl,} he purred in amusement, trailing his fingers over storybooks and bags of bath salts as he made his way into a second room of the storm. Ah. Spell components. {Do you want me to silence you again, or do you think you can refrain from chattering like an inane baboon?}

She didn't raise her voice and shout, or even try to reason with him. It was also probably best she didn't blackmail or bully him, as Edwin had lodged himself into stubborn mode and could easily convince himself of things he didn't really believe. But she still had to derail him _somehow_.

She followed him quietly for a moment as he examined dried skins and powdered minerals that he could make use of in his own spells.

{Did Dynaheir happen to catch her name?} Imoen asked him.

The Thayvian's nails tightened violently against soft wooden shelving. His voice, when he managed to speak, was low and hostile: {I am under no compulsion to listen to you or to exchange wordcraft in turn. This topic of conversation is _closed, _whelp.}

{The more you strong-arm your protests, the more you prove it's a serious issue,} she responded calmly.

{There is no issue!} he spat at her and made a definitive gesture through the air. {If there was, it would not be yours to resolve! Silence! This is migraine-inducing and useless!} He released the shelf and strode purposefully over to examine some scrolls. Imoen glanced backwards through the door between rooms, and noted her friends were giving the angry Red Wizard a wide berth. She took in a slow breath, and then followed Edwin

{It's _bothering_ you,} she told him. {_Talk_ to me. I'm the one person you can share anything with, Edwin!}

{You have no such credentials and I have nothing to share. Listen, _girl_,} he turned back to her, his eyes gleaming with haughty anger and his posture aggressive. {There is nothing particularly special about you that should induce me to ruminate on subjects; on this matter, or any other!}

Imoen grimaced but did not back down. Seeing this, he advanced on her.

{If I deign to favor you with enlightenment on any topic, be it related to the magical or the mundane-} He loomed over her, forcing his will upon her with body language and sheer height.

Her fists clenched. She'd had enough.

{-you are to take it with _gratitude,_ not this entitled posturing! You are entitled to nothing! You _are_ _noth_-!}

She grabbed his face firmly between both hands, and smothered his rant with her mouth. The Thayvian's eyes flew open wide. He stepped backwards and ended up pulling her with him. Then his nails clamped down tightly on her shoulders and he managed to pry her back a pace. Lips departed lips.

Imoen frowned uncertainly through him as the two of them caught their breaths. Then she noticed her wizard was staring at her, and that his expression was caught somewhere between shocked and livid. They were silent a moment, processing the unusual event which had just occurred, and whether or not it held any resemblance to the kiss she'd forced on him the night before.

It didn't.

{What... was... _that_?} a very upset Red Wizard demanded.

His thief stared expressionlessly a beat. {That was the only effective means I've ever discovered by which one might get a Thayvian to stop talking,} she informed him.

{You... Y-you are _never, _not in_ ten-thousand years, _to _ever _again-!} Edwin Odesseiron sputtered incredulously; By then Imoen had lunged at him and claimed his mouth a second time.

Her tongue silenced his with a brush that visibly appalled him; She felt his teeth half-close in reflex and watched his eyes widen indignantly. Of course the easiest way to escape her would have been to simply turn his head aside. Which Edwin did not do.

Instead, he tried to push her back out to arm's length. {Im-!}

She elbowed his arm into a bend, seized hold of that garish red cloak, and dragged herself back into him. His lips acknowledged hers on arrival, _clung_ to hers, and his brows furrowed into a knot. Wizard and thief struggled and stumbled for a moment among herbs and scrolls as he tried to get her away from him. The tug of war was admittedly undermined by how he met each fragment of the staggered kiss.

_Enough_! Edwin tightened his grasp on her shoulders and backed up from her, breathing hard. His Monkey clung tenaciously to his collar. He squinted down at her, confused and conflicted. _What are you-!?_

Imoen's face felt hot with the baffling excitement of the situation, and her limbs were tingling at his nearness. _Come on. Let me! She_ stood on her toes to push herself into him that one extra inch. _Too tall! _

Lips ghosted one another in a more hesitant sampling. Then his grasp on her shoulders slipped, and teeth clacked awkwardly and painfully against one another. It didn't matter: the kiss was deep and rough, and his facial hair was prickly against her cheek.

_Warm. Spice. Always you smell like spice...!_

Lips caressed, arms flexed, fingers coiled, feet shifted. Their tussle was uncertain but forceful as he retreated haphazardly and she followed.

{Edwin...!} Imoen protested vaguely between somewhat violent kisses. {Edwin, stop-!} He didn't listen. She snarled, and began trying to trip him. They bumped past a sturdy bookcase and into a wall of crates. His attempt to sidestep her left him momentarily off-balance, and a forceful push knocked the back of his knees into a solid mahogany chest.

He stumbled into a seated position, and the kissing pattern was momentarily broken. Imoen sucked in a hard breath and then glared daggers down at her wizard, her fingers digging painfully into hiss shoulders. {Edwin, you are _BITING_ me! It _hurts_!}

Her wizard sputtered furiously: {Your _tongue_ does _NOT_ belong there! The devil has possessed you-!?}

So she kissed him again, and, just to spite him, she forced her tongue in while he was trying to protest. His teeth came down hard, though not hard enough to draw blood, and he debated himself angrilly. She had to release the kiss to regain her balance, and then grabbed angrily for both his arms.

She was the thief, and he was the wizard. There was no possible way he could beat her in a grapple! He yelped, more in surprise than in pain.

{Imoen-!} He took the next kiss almost resentfully as it cut him off. {-this is a _complete_-} A third unsettlingly open kiss. He accepted it. {-violation-} He answered it; h_ungrily_. She hummed into his mouth, ecstatic. {-of the student-teacher-} The kisses halted for a moment as he struggled to get her off of him once and for all, {-relationship! By the _gods_, Imoen, get _off_ _of me_!}

{EDWIN!}

Her fingers had fastened so tightly that she was leaving welts on his skin, and the glare in her eyes was seething. Her hair was tossed unkempt about her face, and her teeth were bared. She looked _wild_.

{Shut _UP_, Edwin!}

His eyes widened. She dove back into the fight, this time grabbing up the hem of his skirts and throwing them up over his thigh and stomach. He caught her shoulders, wrenching her forcibly back off of him and planting the toe of his boot against her shin. {Imoen!} he spat.

He'd stopped her forward motion, at least for the moment.

And Imoen took in a hard drag of air, confused and at last _disheartened_ by this sustained, negative reaction. She leaned back for a moment, steadying herself with a hand on his knee. But to add to all these mixed signals, Edwin's fingers tightened on her arms again, this time as if to prevent her from _leaving_. Her focus flicked up to his face, to where his gaze was hooded and his olive skin was flushed a dull burgundy. He was studying her with an almost haunted expression.

Bewildered, she tried to lean over again and get a better look at him. Her thigh brushed up between his, and his face tensed up in alarm. {_Why?_} she breathed, exasperated both by him and by the unmistakably masculine pressure she could feel butting up against her hip. {Why won't you just let me-?}

He cut her off with a horrified and desperate blurt of: {You are a _child_!}

Her jaw drooped, and she gaped at him openly for a moment

{_W-what?_} she murmured incredulously as soon as she'd found her voice. He flinched, as if surprised by her softness. {No, Edwin. I'm not.} His brows scrunched up as she straightened up and released his shoulders. {And nothing- _nothing_,} she sighed, {creeps me out quite as much as being called a 'child' by an older man who finds me attractive.} She seized hold of his hips and dragged him sharply back from where he'd been kicking himself away from her.

His fingers caught the edges of the crates in surprise. {What in the nine hells are you doing?} he growled low and quiet, and it seemed all the fury gone out of him.

{I am _kissing you._}

She dropped her weight down such that she toppled him onto his back, and her fingers latched back onto his arms. He kicked to knock her leg out from underneath her, and his hands scrabbled at her for renewed purchase. Still, she had a plan; _desperate_ thought it might be. Imoen stuffed her face into his neck, took a frightening gamble, and _bit_ him.

Her conjurer cried out in surprise, his fingers pausing where they were half entangled in her cloak and tunic. She grabbed at the vulnerable flesh of his throat with her lips, and sucked it firmly between her teeth.

This was a guess. A bet, based on everything she knew about him, about his upbringing, about Red Wizards, and about Thay. Who else in the entire world had Edwin ever trusted there, at his neck? He trusted _her._ He'd proven it.

Edwin could feel her hair, brushing up against his chin, and he could smell her. The wizard shuddered, staring uncertainly up at nothing. _Gods._ He could feel each of her breaths, hot against his skin. And when he didn't immediately react (_Because what was he to do?_), she released the bite and lifted herself and her mouth up a little higher. She nipped just beneath his jawline, and this next 'bite' was gentler.

He tilted his head back, without thinking, and felt her attention chase the exposure of his throat. Her fingers teased aside his robes and doublet hem and traced gently towards his collarbone. The smell of her hung thick about his senses, and he trembled.

_One girl,_ at his_ throat_, like some _beast_ who could _tear_ it open with her teeth; this was the most erotic sensation he had ever experienced. The touch of her mouth was _indescribable_ against his flesh: something uncomfortable, and electrifying, and pleasurable throughout every nerve.

What sense did that make? He squirmed, once more incredibly aware of the fact that he had a leg on either side of her.

Imoen grinned. The thief experienced a thrill of triumph, of _control;_ Her wizard had a sensitivity, a weakness, and _she'd_ found it. Beneath her, her conjurer's coiled and defensive muscles began to slacken. His boot, which had been digging painfully into her shin, eased to the ground. He shifted his weight a little. She nipped and kissed and suckled at his skin. And then, after a long moment, she felt his hands started to _move_.

_Yes. Please. Come on, it's okay._

Slender fingers kneaded at her cloak for a moment, as if uncertain what to do with her. Then they eased down her back, the nails following her ribs and spine and the curves of her hips. His hands came back up again to rest hesitantly at her sides. She bumped his elbow so that he met the swell of her breast. At first he didn't react. Then she felt a hard swallow through the flesh of his neck, and realized he was _afraid_.

_I'm gonna die, _she tried not to groan. _This is one of the most attractive and vulnerable things I've ever seen you do, and now it's driving me ballistic!_

Edwin took in a slow, fortifying breath. He couldn't really see her in this position, but he brushed a thumb across the bosom of her tunic that he might continue feeling her.

Imoen, he knew, was as unpleasantly over-endowed as any Rashemi woman, despite her slighter frame. He found her chemise was braided under her breasts, presumably in some primitive attempt to support and contain them. Brassieres were, apparently, vastly beyond local technology levels.

_... Gods. (This is Imoen. No one but Imoen.)_

His thumb slipped over her again, and she murmured. The sound of her elicited a shudder from him as he recalled to memory the _thing_ she'd done only days before (he could remember the _sounds_-!). He felt her fingers tightened against his skin, and he took in another steadying breath. Intrigued, if confused, the wizard slid his hands up and down the length of her body a second time. Her shape. (_Hers_.) As he returned to her breasts, he eased his palms over them. They were still incredibly ridiculous (Hers).

Imoen took in a shaky breath against her skin. She loosened the upper clasps of the doublet with her left hand, and her next kiss came at the line of his collar bone. At the same time, her dominant hand slipped to his side, skirting the hem she'd thrown up high over his waist. She gathered up the excess material of the robe, tossing it out of her way. Her fingers settled on his knee, and smoothed up his pant leg. She hunted for the ties of his trousers, and found them.

At the realization that a woman (_Not 'a woman,' Her!) _was undressing him, Edwin recalled several things simultaneously: a Chosen of Mystra, an abjurationist, a betting game, a feeblemind, a _harem_ _and its master_. A wave of resentment crested over him, and his fingers clenched against her sides.

"Kwefai." It was a warning, and it was _bitter. _

Imoen was still for a moment, acknowledging the sound of his voice. Then she doted on his throat to try and soothe him, and her fingers smeared up the side of his neck and rubbed along tense muscles and the base of his skull. A few moments later, she unlaced his trousers and tugged at the hem, but he wouldn't lift his weight for her. She pinched at the pant leg and managed to jerk them from down over the lip of the mahogany chest. Her conjurer grimaced. She nipped along the side of his throat, peeling back his collar further.

Edwin stared up nothing, conscious of very little outside of that budding _resentment_ and the pleasurable tingle of each harmless bruise she was leaving in his skin. He listened to her shift about, his thoughts busy with conflicting impulses. He knew she'd next attack his sash, robes, and doublet.

Instead he was subjected to the unpleasant surprise of her outright reaching into his underthings and collecting him.

A hiss escaped him, and he lifted his head to look down at her, his chin bumping sharply into the crown of her head. She winced, and sat upright. _That_ was when he realized he'd lost track of her actions; and that she had, among other things, lost her leggings to a puddle on the floor.

Warm, naked flesh smothered out the freezing air as she leaned into the natural hug of his thighs. He had the briefest of moments to experience complete denial of what she must be intending to do, and his fingers tightened prohibitively against her shoulder blades. "_Imoe-!"_

Then the moist walls which clamped hold of him were _hot_.

His head fell back in shock against the crates and he sucked in a hard breath between his teeth. He registered that she _moaned_, and then the sound of her approval bleached out his sense of self. His lips remained parted, and he stared uncomprehendingly up at her.

_Lady Firehair,_ Imoen whimpered internally. She reached unsteadily downward and touched them both. Her muscles released in an undulation, one that that welcomed in another inch of both exotic, olive skin and twinned, black ribbons of ink. Edwin was watching this, too, and she met his astounded gaze. Then he looked away and breathed in hard, as if trying to compose his thoughts. She felt his fingers bunch and twist in her cloak, as if he were _squirming_.

Her haste had cost her some discomfort, but, truth be told, she had been ready. She hadn't been worked up by anticipation_ alone_ since- A quivver passed through her and her breath hitched as she sank lower and lower and lower; The reality of _now_ blotted out all memories from _then_. Their hips fitted smugly together and she rested momentarily.

_I just did that._

_She just did that._

Edwin looked slowly back at her. {Y-you-} he breathed raggedly, his fingers lifting to touch her ridiculous, pink hair. His thumb brushed the curve of her lips. Imoen looked up at him, her eyes half-mast and her cheeks blushing. His mouth was dry and he stared at her wordlessly.

Her lips quirked. Then she _smiled_ at him, warm and mischievous under the cast of lust. Monkey. That was _unmistakably_ his Monkey...!

Imoen kissed the curve of his thumb where it lingered beside her face, startling him. Then leaned forward, resting her forearms across his chest as he tried to summon intelligent thoughts. She lifted her hips from his and he breathed in sharply, his fingers raking through her cloak to reach her hips and back, as he tried to figure out whether the thought of her staying or departing concerned him more.

She _(She, Imoen, Kwefai, Monkey, Her!)_ shifted her stance with just the tip of him captured, bringing the angle of her hips in more favorably. She dropped her mouth to his, and he breathed out hard against the inexplicable caress of her tongue, as her hips sank back into place. A relieved, loud, and _needy_ sigh oozed out of her, and he clenched one hand back into her hair.

_Gods. Gods. Kossuth. Bast. Sune. Mystra-!_

Another rise. Another fall. Another relieved cry from her as she tucked her face to his throat. Rise and fall, rise and fall.

{H-hurry...} he begged her meekly, because they were in the rear room of a sundries shop and could be stumbled upon by anyone. They had a small window with which to accomplish a plan laid forth by an insane pink thief, and he was suddenly loathe for anything to stop them. {Walls are thin,} he pleaded. _Rise and fall._ {H... hurry...!}

His thief made a noise of affirmation and then lifted herself partially off of him. His throat tightened and he propped himself up an inch with the intention of grabbing at her. Then it occurred to him she was surveying their position and perhaps looking to straddle him. (_Imoen?_) She lifted one of her legs from the ground and, in an unacceptably beautiful show of dexterity, settled her boot flat on the crate just north of his hip.

_Oh- _Her body engulfed his with a deep twist and luxurious moan. His head fell back again, and he up stared at her in surrender; stared as she ground herself happily into place. She sheathed him once, twice, and then it appeared she had judged their new position satisfactory. (_Satisfactory_!) She smiled at him again _(Kwefai-!),_ leaned down to lay her forearms upon his chest ,and rolled her hips back for another thrust.

Edwin clutched at her shoulders and kissed her. As her sex met his, he twisted instinctively to try and match the angle of her hips, and lifted a leg slightly against her own. _Gods!_ (_Kwefai!_)She tucked her head under his and stifled a throat moan in biting him. He lifted his chin, and let her. There were no places to comfortably rest his foot. For a moment he tried to settle it against her calf. Then his thigh hooked the edge of her hip, and the angle was _perfect, _and his hard gasp matched the sigh of pleasure which leaked out from between her teeth.

Another roll. Another, and another, fast, as she mumbled into his flesh. The crates were surprisingly sturdy. They did not protest the exercise.

Rhythm. Paced at a jog. Sustained. His eyes closed to slits as he helped to balance her weight.

She tried to lift a hand and nearly fell over, so he stabilized her side. Then he saw her reach back and under herself. He couldn't see, exactly, but he received the impression she was trying to rub her sex. Dismayed, he reached blindly down for whatever she was doing. He found her hand between her legs, but it abdicated its position at his touch. She _had_ been touching herself. (_While we are together!?_) A sneer of disbelief curled his lips, before fading away to confusion. He hesitated for a moment, perplexed by her enthusiastic thrusts. Then he eased his fingers down to where their bodies were joined.

She released his throat with a sharp, ecstatic cry, as his fingers splayed over her pelvic bone.

Edwin lifted his head up from the crate and stared down at her, at way her cheeks burned red and her eyelashes drooped heavily. She whined at him through the next thrust as if hysteric, and her whole frame bucked involuntarily up through the next rise. Without pausing to think, and with only a moment's conscious awareness of how she was _most assuredly ungroomed_, he eased the pads of his fingers through her folds, searching for her pleasure.

His Monkey cried out frantically, desperately, and rocked her hips hard into the cup of his hand. He shuddered through the sound of her, his gaze fixed on her face. She had closed her eyes on descent, her open mouth was curved into a smile, and she was wearing an expression of bliss.

_That needs to keep happening._

Edwin steadied his hand against her as best as he was able, keeping his finger pads against her as she moved and, it seemed to be_ enough_. She cried out over and over again, thrusting her hips into his with renewed vigor and speed. Her back straightened slightly, she lifted her head, and her palms tensed where they were perched upon his chest. Her brows furrowed, almost as if in concentration. Her sounds were distracting and engaging and he wanted _more_ of them, and even the tiniest bit of motion from his fingers seemed to leave her more and more frantic.

He did not remind her about thin walls again. He tracked her face through the vocalizations, staring at her. Each one hit him in a _wave_ of tingling sensation, coaxing out a psychological high he couldn't have put a name to.

Tension built in a shuddering, desperate thread; winding higher, and higher, and tighter and tighter.

His thoughts faded out to white. Hisses of effort escaped from his lips. Their exertions had him flushed with concentration and holding tightly on to her with every part of himself, tensing.

A-and though he no longer had the ability to focus on _touching_ her, the presence of his hand still seemed to be helping; she had not stopped voicing her wonderful cries (_Gods, please, if she stops-!)_. Tighter. _Further_. _Higher_. She reoriented her legs, sat further upright upon him and, essentially, bounced. His fingers curled greedily at her rounded hips.

The peak hit him in a burst of blindingly euphoric pleasure (_Imoen!)_. He bucked frantically up to meet her coming thrusts; and, for all the talented whores he'd partaken off, he was rather certain he hadn't been so desperate for relief since he was scarcely eighteen. Then it was done. Done, and his head was full of starbursts. He drew air in raggedly, and tried to crush her to him.

Only Imoen didn't let him.

As the starbursts cleared, he grimaced and looked hesitantly up at the thief. She was still moving at a frantic pace as if he hadn't just finished. Disoriented, he lifted up a hand with the intention of pushing her off.

"E-_ed-win_-!" she whimpered hysterically.

He stared at her for a brief moment. (Not done) Then his eyes widened in alarm, and he swept his gaze down to where they were joined. She was keeping her thrusts fast and short while never lifting high off of his hips. A tactic to delay the inevitability of losing him, now that he was spent. He brushed his thumb over her folds and her next breath came with a squeak.

Not_ done. Not done not done not done! _He wet his lips and rocked his thumb horizontally over her as she bounced, uncertain how else he might service her. Her cries climbed in pitch, and her movements became shaky and awkward.

{K-keep-} she begged. Then she clenched up, and her fingers dug into his shoulders.

He kept touching her, steadily, and as swiftly as he was able. She arched her back and curled her toes and strained with every inch of herself. He looked up at her face, at her intense look of starved concentration.

Then she _screamed_\- and anyone in a mile radius could have heard her scream- and her internal walls tightened like a vice. A moment passed them by, in which a shudder rippled over her from the crown of her head to the tips of her feet.

Then her arms gave out and she collapsed on top of him. He grunted, breathing almost as heavily and raggedly as she. His thigh slipped down from her hip and the foot made contact with the ground. Her own leg slid down to coil with his. He managed to get his hand out from under her, and his fingers settled uncertainly on her shoulder and hair. He could feel her pulse where he was still caught temporarily within her.

He stared at her uncomprehendingly, and then he wanted to smell her hair so he dragged her up a few inches and held her there, his arms tight around her back. He closed his eyes and breathed deep of strawberries.

There was no possible way that their activity had not been overheard, which meant that the only reason they hadn't been intruded upon was because no one in earshot wanted to actually go through the trauma of _seeing_ it, even for a moment, even if just to _stop_ them.

He kept hugging her, then, because he could.

"Dragon," the Monkey mumbled sweetly into his collar.

He opened his eyes, slowly, and again stared up at nothing in particular. His nerves were dead. He didn't want to move. The sharp angles of the crates and chest were digging into his legs. His back hurt. The location in which this all had happened was _humiliating_. By all the gods, he was still largely _clothed_, with his _robes_ hiked up like a _street whore's _dress...!

But he did not want to move. And he felt strangely _miserable_ for a man who had just come.

"... Kwefai," he echoed into her temple as he pet over her head. Her... his friend. His _only_ friend.

He smothered his face into her hair for awhile, and conscious thought dripped away.

...

* * *

Imoen raked through her hair, composed herself, and stepped boldly through the door into the forward room of the shop.

Jaheira, Khalid, Kivan, and the storekeeper were all gaping at her in dismay. "Um." Imoen looked from one face to another. Then she cleared her throat, stood up straight, and raked a hand through her hair again. "I assure you that no merchandise was broken over the course of these shenanigans," she attested. Edwin followed her out. He glanced up at the elves and then looked away.

A long silence ensued.

"Well, that's a relief," the shopkeeper decided."Could you maybe _buy_ something then, so I can overcharge you for it?"

"Absolutely," Imoen agreed, whipping out a handful of goods as if from nowhere and placing them upon the counter. "Also we'd like to buy a pair of scissors, and two grams of volcanic bath salts, and ten of those lovely decorative tea coasters in green. We also noticed your lovely collection of mild transmutations and had to wonder if you've anything which can turn hair permanently pink? Specifically, a spell with a- what was it again-?"

"A natural melanin replacement construct," her Red Wizard supplied.

"Right, a natural melanin replacement construct."

"Well I must have something," the Gur woman concluded, rummaging behind her. "I suppose I'll only charge you a fifty-percent markup, then."

"Sounds excellent," Imoen hummed. "So-"

"Imoen," Jaheira interjected.

Imoen nearly leaped out of her skin, and looked nervously towards the druid. Her brave posture crumpled.

The woman's eyes were narrowed, but this was what she said: "Perhaps you two should get some fresh air and... _we_ will finish shopping." Khalid looked to his wife in surprise. Everyone else did likewise.

"Uh..." Imoen tried to make sure she had heard correctly. "Th-that... sounds like a very... _generous_ idea..."

Jaheira continued to stare at her. Imoen gulped and, after a moment of headiness, awkwardly strode past the elves. Edwin looked away from the elves, and followed her at heel.

...

* * *

When they were outside, Imoen looked back towards the shop in bewilderment. Then she looked up to her Thayvian, who was staring out at nothing. She tried to think of something witty to say, but nothing came to mind. After a long and awkward silence, she reached out to touch his arm. "Are you okay?"

{What happens now?} He asked without looking at her.

Imoen fidgeted uncertainly. {I... I don't know?} she hesitated, trying to run her fingers down to the curve of his palm. {We go back to the tavern and do it again?} she beamed hopefully.

He withdrew his hand and turned to stare down at her. "And here I thought you were an expert of one-night stands?"

Imoen winced and then leaned on her heels and rubbed the back of her neck uncertainly. {Am... am I that ugly?} she wondered, trying and failing miserably to hide her sudden rush of disappointment and insecurity. She didn't know _what_ to think.

His eyes narrowed.

Imoen hesitated and then looked at her feet, not knowing what to say. "I don't know what you're fishing for right now, but I'm a little tired of one-night stands," she murmured quietly. "I don't do relationships without throwing my whole heart into things, so I always figured it would be stupidly unhealthy to show any real interest in you. But now I don't think I've ever been close with anyone the way I'm close with you, either. And when you came back, suddenly you were almost... ...emotionally available, I guess?"

He stared at her, almost unblinking.

"... Please say something, Edwin, my feelings are out on a limb, and I'm talking to someone I know can be undeservedly spiteful."

Silence

The Thayvian stepped towards her and she looked up just as he grasped hold of her collar, lowered his head, and forced his mouth possessively over hers. Tongue and all. She leaned into him in surprise, lifting her hands to his shoulders and then wrapping them around the back of his neck.

The two stood there for a moment, writhing and grasping, sidling closer and closer into the embrace.

He released the kiss and crushed her into his shoulder, and she squeezed tightly around the back of his neck. His fingers raked through her hair and across her cloak. She shuddered, and buried her face into his robes.

_Spice._

It appeared that they'd actually somehow gotten through a chapter of their 'talk.'


	24. Experience Points

I'm writing at a slower pace these days as I try to do other things as well XD. This chapter wasn't easy either, and I was never quite satisfied with it, but decided to roll with it. Submit your thanks to Gorion and Tallix for nagging me into posting.

There are three new art pieces on my deviant art, which you can link to from my profile. They include 'Mine.' 'You may be a wizard if' and 'Ain't it a bit early fer Wine, Lad?'

Rated M for normality interspersed with highly NSFW intimacy.

...

* * *

_**Experience Points**_

...

* * *

The hallway was long, narrow, and tall, with arching ceilings and the remains of long-rotted tapestries hanging like fibrous carcasses on either side. It was not empty, not in the least, though neither were its inhabitants alive.

_Can you deal with the fodder? _the halfling asked.

_Obviously, the wizard_ signed back with a smug toss of his head.

_Good. Keep a distraction at ready in case it takes me a bit. And don't step into the hallway proper. Floor's rigged to collapse._

He gave his halfling a surprised glance. _You can honestly tell that just by looking? _She looked up at him with raised brows and a blank stare. He couldn't help but grin at her reaction, despite the danger of their present situation. _How are you going to kill the golem?_

As she slipped an enchanted short sword from yet another concealed sheathe, her reply was significantly more matter-of-fact than proud: _I can kill anything._

She moved, pushing to her feet and bolting forward all in one strike of visual lightning. By the time he'd darted out to cover her, his fingers playing through the Weave, Tallix Snapdragon was already a dozen paces down the hallway .A flood of white missiles spit out from his fingers, spiraling after her as she gained on the horde of skeletons and thinly-fleshed, undead creatures.

The spell outraced her as she leaped to rebound off the hallway walls and gain height over the crowd. Then beneath her, his bolts flew through the hoard with a brilliant and temporarily innocuous-looking blue a number of the skeletons began exploding, their bones transformed into a forceful jettison of shrapnel, tearing apart their neighbors.

Clogging up the far-end of the hallway, its body twisted together from the fused skeletons of a thousand corpses which ran together like marble, the Bone Golem rose to to attention. The attention of a gigantic skull, a conglomerate plated together with some giant worm's carapace to hold it together, and empty of eyes, riveted on Gorion.

Huge jaws spread in a elongated, silent scream. Poisonous fumes billowed from between the teeth.

It lunged forward; its giant fingers like limestone, like giant stalactites, but _bone; _as they slammed down upon the old and sagging cobble. And in the dark above it, already ascended fifteen feet and more, Tallix Snapdragon descended with a target leap. She landed upon its monstrous vertebrae, sliding from one to another.

Gorion was already casting his next spell. Golems were notoriously well-sealed against magic. Whether or not he could strip its defenses was immaterial; it's unknown construction and origins made striking at it directly foolish in such tense circumstances.

No, all he had to do was hold it off. With a flick of his hands, a vibrating force that flew up along the narrow stretch of the hallway. The golem hit it like a battering ram, sending brilliant sparks along its length, and sent the gigantic entity rebounding backwards.

The wall would only be able to take one more hit, perhaps not even that. Gorion grinned, but then his expression faltered as a chill of warning ran along his spine. He thought to look behind himself.

Standing there, tall and dignified in pose, it's skeletal arms spread out in some grotesque mockery of a martyr's blessing, was a Mohrg. It had once been a man, but now its overgrown tongue was the only fleshy part left of it. The appendage wrapped about each of its limbs and spiraled back and forward in a mimicry of intestines throughout its body cavities. Its bone were etched and painted with countless aesthetic runes that spelled out rules and morals from some ancient and long-forgotten Book of the Dead.

The Mohrg stared at him silently, two pinpricks of golden light gleaming out from the depths of its skull. The tongue twitched where it drooped swollen from its fanged jaws, like a worm, like a waking animal. Then that tongue lifted, and the end of it opened up into a long 'mouth' and 'throat' limed in hooked teeth and long, barbed needles.

Gorion raised a brow and was quiet a moment, staring back at it in confusion for a moment. Then it dawned on him: "Oh!" he suddenly realized, and the Mohrg twitched reflexively back a step, as if surprised by the sound. "You want me to run so that you can chase me," the wizard understood. "Is that it?"

The Mohrg's mouth closed as it considered how to parse this reaction.

Gorion smiled a little bashfully, and cleared his throat as the golem barreled through his force wall. "Dreadfully sorry about the confusion. I haven't done this in awhile, is all." Then he seized hold of a belt full of spell components and, with a deluge of draconic, he dropped to splay out his fingers upon the cold earth.

His bright yellow _Sunfire_ spell bloomed explosively up around him, temporarily blinding oncoming golem, dissolving its poisonous breath, and driving the Mohrg back with a vexed shriek.

...

* * *

"You don't seem surprised," Kivan noted dourly.

"Neither do you," Jaheira observed as she gathered together their purchased goods, and Kivan grunted. They had given the magic-addled, young fools plenty enough time to sort out their heads on the matter of their absurd indiscretion. Hopefully, nothing had ended up on fire.

"A-and you don't seem angry." Khalid lifted the back of one hand to Jaheira's brow as they headed out from the shop. The druid blinked in surprise as her husband observed: "Or i-ill, for that matter."

Jaheira repressed a dry grin as her husband stole their bag of goods from her so that he might carry it on her behalf. "Thank you for that assessment, Khalid. Eh, Kivan," she opened slowly, I feel it would be cruel to ask you about that kidnapping, but-"

The husky elf gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "Save your concern for Imoen. I've survived much worse."

Khalid looked at the ground, and Jaheira wet her lips. "You suffered as a result of Edwin's actions... yet you are not hostile towards him...?"

"I have little time for fearing or pitying weak men," Kivan growled, resigning himself to the usage of words. "And make no mistake: the Red Wizard is weak. He slithers after her heels like the lowly viper he is, nipping and spitting for attention, and then rolling over to expose his underbelly in hopes of soliciting a closeness he doesn't know how to deserve. I have nothing but contempt for Thay, and disgust for the worms it produces.

"But both sisters have more patience than I do, and it seems they are immune to venom. So I watched, and I saw the Thayvian was more _idiot_ than indifferent. He involved me entirely to get me closer to Tazok. And his wretched lack of foresight concerning the danger he'd put_ her_ in did not preclude his concern for her safety. So I have not killed him. Yet. There are days like this in which I am tempted."

Khalid blinked in puzzlement and rubbed thoughtfully at the back of his head. "Y-you are m-more concerned that he makes for a terrible partner than you are surprised by t-today?"

He shrugged "They have been _two_ since I met them," Kivan replied, surprising the Harpers; They had left the party before any such relationship was visible.

They returned to the Jovial Juggler in relative silence, with the Harpers contemplating not only their wild elf traveling companion, but also the many strange story fragments their knowledge of Mulhorandi had given them that day.

"You guys were gone for awhile," Aegis noted jovially as the trio reentered the inn. She appeared to be mid card game with Shar-Teel, and looked utterly indifferent to the fact that the fightress was creaming her. "Though your numbers appeared to have dwindled. Where did you lose Imoen and Faerun's least tactful wizard?"

"The Evil Wizard would probably be better lost," Minsc pouted into a hearty brunch. "Safer, too, from the justice of hamsters and rangers!"

Jaheira paused, her hand resting upon the back of her chair. "They didn't come back?"

Aegis straightened. Shar-Teel took her boots off the table. Xzar popped up worriedly from behind the table where he'd been playing with Pretzels. Kivan alone looked unconcerned (though perhaps he was irritated or amused) by this development, and his mouth pressed into a line. "Feldpost's," the wild elf predicted.

...

* * *

His cloak had been cast over the large feather bed, and its Thayvian crimson looked rich and beautiful against the pallor of her skin. The sight of her there beneath him, with her face flushed and her fingers clenched into the red silk (_against *his* cloak!),_ was glorious. Her breath came in soft, excited mewls.

It was hard to balance himself, to thrust, and to dote on her at the same time. He contented himself with fingers clutched into her hair, breathing out hard beside her temple and trying to ignore the budding cramp in his left leg. And the fact that she was _helping_ him take weight off of it. _Gods._ He was, a detached and bemused part of him registered, out of practice with being on top. It was so much easier (_easier!?_) to simply lay back and be _serviced _by a choice piece of-!

It was too quiet. _Much_ too quiet (_distracted, wrong, alter)_. He shifted his stance, angling his pelvis slightly, and the sudden and throaty moan she gave him was empowering. His leverage was piss-poor, but he continued in greedy ignorance of how little time he'd actually be able to maintain the position, because _she kept moaning,_ and, for some inexplicable reason, the _sound_ of her was a brilliant and irrefutable affirmation.

Then the sensation of her had built to the point where it was _blinding_, and his thoughts slurred into a stream of vulgarities and praises as he tightened his fingers on the bed, on her, and drove as rapidly as he could into the climax. He could hear her verbal encouragements, her cries of delight, as her calves and thighs tightened about his hips and nails scraped over his skin. His arms shook and his eyes closed with the sharp euphoria of the peak.

_Imoen!_

There!_ (Gods, yes-!)_ The last few moments were slow, languid, delirious, _thrilled, _divine. Then it was over, and the hysteric sensation had settled down, down, down; a calm and pleasant exhaustion, melting like liquid honey into the marrow of his bones. _(Bast. Mystra.)_

Nothing about his thief had ever made any sense at all.

Edwin collapsed, slowly, uncertain if his partner could take his weight. Imoen hugged him down to her and so he relaxed against her bosom and throat, with his thoughts dissolved and his pulse still racing, and the scent of her thick in the air around him. The crook of her neck was beautiful and pale. His fingers traced her skin, idly, as exhaustion sank through his bones. Her heartbeat was calming.

He was going to pass out. He probably ought to get off of her so that she could sleep, too. Dumbly, devoid of waking intellect, he eased himself off to the right. He slumped there, with a hand still cast out over her midsection, and the other coiled about her head. His thumb passed through the coils of her silly, bleached, _dried out,_ pink hair.

With his head an empty fog, and still touching her, he surrendered.

Imoen _moved_.

Either she moved _just_ before he would have drifted off into unconsciousness, or else some time had passed and the movement was actually enough to rouse him. He felt her sidle closer to him and interlace her leg with his again.

He might have drifted off again, except that she kept moving slightly. Awareness crept back into him. Then he concluded she was _tense, _and breathing hard.

_She is touching herself._

Suddenly he was very, very, very much awake.

Edwin didn't move, listening as she squirmed and writhed; as her fingers caressed rapidly. She took in a hard breath and tensed up to the point where she was trembling. Then she relieved her own sexual need with a sharp, excited sigh.

(..._Kwefai?_)

She lay there for several long moments, enjoying her afterglow and gasping for air. He said nothing, and he didn't _budge_. As her heart rate began to even out, she relaxed. And after some time, she turned away from him and spooned back up against him to try and sleep.

Edwin was silent. Then he took in a slow breath (_which trembled, ought to have noticed-!_) and, in a pitifully _meek_ voice asked her (_quiet, quiet-! stop-! don't admit-! don't acknowledge this insu-!_):

"Was I that bad?"

...

* * *

Ajantis raised a brow as he and Viconia reached the ground floor of the inn. Aegis was covering her face and shaking her head back and forward. Xzar looked bewildered, as if he wasn't certain whether to be irritated, impressed, or overtaken by hysterical laugher. Shar-Teel gaped incredulously, with one eye twitching, as if she couldn't believe how _stupid_ something sounded. Khalid was blushing, and Jaheira looked wry and resigned. Minsc was conferring with Boo. Kivan appeared indifferent to everyone; he was sitting off to the side and fletching arrows.

"Is everything alright?" the paladin asked as he fetched back some breakfast for himself and his cleric.

Aegis glanced at them and cleared her throat. "Hey Ajantis. You're up late this morning," she observed. She wasn't the only one with such observational powers, however: Shar-Teel took one look at Viconia's lazy posture and incredibly _pleased_ expression, and then shot a wide-eyed and disbelieving sneer at Ajantis.

The paladin recoiled from the sheer fury of the fightress' expression, looking confused and surprised. He blinked first at Shar-Teel, then glanced at Viconia, and finally looked back to the fightress in alarm. "Well, Viconia doesn't share my sleeping habits," he blurted out in a rush, "and I thought to make sure someone's with her at all times while Vai is still behaving unpredictably...!"

Shar-Teel hesitated. She cocked her head to the side, like a she-wolf, as if considering him.

Viconia looked up sleepily from her food. She took one look at Shar-Teel's defensive bristling, and then broke out laughing. Shar-Teel glared at her, but the drow waved aside her fury. "No, he really is as_ pathetically_ chaste as he's attested. He's not slighted you."

Ajantis was still baffled, but he blushed slightly. Shar-Teel scowled, but leaned back in her seat and mused. Jaheira raised a brow. Kivan glanced up at them in annoyance, perhaps entirely because Viconia was speaking and for no other reason.

Aegis blinked quietly at nothing for a moment as if trying to figure out what had just transpired. She looked between Ajantis, Viconia, and Shar-Teel, and then sank her face back into her hand, and resumed shaking her head back and forward.

"Things I admire about my paladin," their leader sighed: "Manages to put up with _you two._" Shar-Teel elbowed her hard, and the ranger winced and laughed. "Maybe we should contact the Order of the Radiant Heart. 'Dear Sir So-and-So, please give Ajantis extra credit points under 'temperance.''"

Ajantis straightened. Temperance?_ Even after what happened with Kagain? Even after I slept with Shar-Teel? _The paladin blushed a little more. Still, seeing as Shar-Teel wasn't about to explode on anyone (she was now engaged in a loud but friendly-sounding argument about schooling with Aegis), he took his seat and tried to hide himself in his breakfast. _Temperance..._

Viconia glanced over at her roommate, amused by him. This would have been the _perfect_ opportunity to tease him further, if not for the risk she might re-aggravate Shar-Teel. Perhaps she'd teach the foolish boy a bit of sign language, for times when speaking Thorasta would not suffice. What was the harm, after all? It might even do him some good, years down the line. And speaking of Shar-Teel, someone needed to have a talk with the fightress. She was taking Ajantis' abnormalities far too personally, and doing so was becoming a liabi-

Hands touched Viconia from behind! Swift and silent as the wind, they smeared back her hood and flew across her collarbone to hold her in place, baring her white hair and black skin to the light. Viconia sat up straight, clawing at the arms in instinctive defense of her person.

"Good _morning_, Lady Panther," a warm voice rumbled beside her ear.

Aegis and the rest of the party looked up in surprise as a stranger abruptly pounced on Viconia from behind. Her initial reaction was to think his body language seemed friendly or even familiar.

Viconia took in a hard gasp as if recovering from the aftershocks of an adrenaline response. "Unhand me, you presumptuous _jaluk_!" she spat, shoving at the man's arm.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" the elvish stranger (and he was _definitely_ an elf!) laughed. He kissed her cheek and then produced a rose from nowhere at all and slipped it behind the drowess's ear. "I only wanted to give you this, as an excuse to see you this morning and compliment you. See? Harmless!"

Viconia's coiled posture and sharp grimace suggested she was not immediately happy with the elf who had draped himself so comfortably about her shoulders. But although she tried to fix him with her most baleful glare, it seemed that her anger faltered at the sight of his mischievous grin. "Surfacers are so _stupid_." A smirk fought its way over her lips, and soon she was grinning arrogantly.

"Alas! Beautiful, mysterious, _agile _Lady Panther, you must tell me," the elf begged slyly: "Have I offended you forever and completely ruined our friendship?" His fingers chafed soothingly and almost imperceptibly against her shoulder. Viconia scoffed, but straightened herself out a little. She folded her arms over her chest, and considered him.

"Um," Aegis looked from Viconia to the newcomer, the latter of whom appeared to have missed a very important day of elf-history classes as a child. "Made a new... _friend_, Viconia?"

"My name is Coran," the elf grinned up at the party. He gave a quick sideways glance in each direction to make sure no one else in the inn could see Viconia's hair, "I am something of an adventurer."

"Us too!" Minsc announced, apparently coming out of whatever hole Imoen's bewildering choice in partner had placed him in.

"Ha! Well, Imoen suggested I should probably talk to you all about a bounty on Cloakwood Wyverns, but then she went and distracted me by having me meet _this_ gorgeous viper, and now I'm afraid _flowers_ are all I'm able to think of this morning..."

"This arrogant fool is Imoen's 'friend,' not mine," The drow dismissed him with a haughty growl, a little mollified by his words, but still vexed with how close he was. "I merely _used_ him for an evening."

Rather than look dejected, Coran seemed delighted by this jab:"Oh-ho! Viconia is right. And I suppose that leaves me with only one question left to answer: Precisely _where _must I kiss her in order to entice her into 'using' me again, tonight?" He affected to examine her hair and shoulders for just such a spot.

A sharp, wooden snap cut across the party table. Most everyone looked over to see that Kivan was holding a broken arrow. The wild-elf's brows were furrowed and there was a slight tilt to his head, and he stared at Coran in a state somewhere along the spectrum of confusion, disbelief, alarm, and revulsion.

Coran raised a brow as if in amusement, and then ignored the wild elf entirely and leaned over beside Viconia's temple. He stayed close as to tickle the drow's ear with his breath. The fingers of one hand chafed reassuringly against her sleeve, and the fingers of the other trailed up her far shoulder to whirl gently upon the curve of her neck and trace sensually over her exposed skin; and all the while he worked to keep her brilliant white hair from exposure. "Am I to understand that my performance was lackluster, then, and that I should consider myself unwelcome in your bed and company?"

Viconia narrowed her eyes at him.

Coran grinned back like a happy fox, his fingers still winding in her hair.

"You are _bold_, male, and you'll get no other compliment from me," she told him, pushing him off of her. "Save your flattery for after night has fallen, when a few cups of wine have made your face less insulting."

The elf chuckled deeply, knowingly, and flicked her hood back up to once more adequately cover her. "As you command, Lady Panther," he whispered. Then he stood straight again and looked back up to the party, and his eyes widened as if in appreciation, or surprise. "Shar-Teel! I'm sorry for not saying hello, as I was distracted- But, my, you are looking ravishingly lethal today! Who's upset you?" he demanded.

Knowing Shar-Teel, Ajantis and Aegis both expected her to dive over the table in an attempt to kill Coran for such unsolicited attention, but the fightress merely grunted in amusement and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Well, I suppose whomever it is won't be making the same mistake twice. As for myself, I appear to be slightly giddy, and I don't want to say anything foolish and end up as a smudge of manburger for my crimes," he decided with a wink at the fightress, "so I will leave all of you lovely ladies and assorted sirs to your breakfasts... and perhaps return when I've a clearer head?" Shar-Teel grunted. Viconia waved him off grumpily. He gave a slightly flourished bow to Aegis, and skipped back off into the tavern in precisely the way in which he'd came.

"Aegis," Minsc decided, "we should recruit him! He would make an excellent addition to our company of heroes! Even the dark lady likes him. _And_ Shar-Teel- that's impressive!"

Aegis twisted about in her seat and looked at Shar-Teel, a little dumbfounded.

The fightress was smiling. At Aegis' stare, she blinked at her and then scowled and shrugged helplessly. "What? You think I should take offense? Why? He's good about keeping his tongue in check, unlike most of these chauvinistic fools."

"Yes," Viconia agreed, with a sultry grin and the good sense not to make eye contact with any ill-tempered wild elves, "let there be no doubt that he is a _saint_ with his _tongue_."

...

* * *

Imoen tensed at the sound of his voice.

Oh _no_.

The thief twisted about in place, and looked back at where Edwin was _most definitely _awake. His expression was rather blank, but those sharp brown eyes focused on her face immediately.

_Crud. Crud and boogersauce. What do I say to that? I've no idea how to-_

Imoen's mouth was on the case! Matter-of-factly, it told him: "Edwin, you are the best-endowed man I've ever slept with."

_What?! But I sleep with elves and-! That doesn't have anything to do with anythi-!_

Her wizard's brows raised, and he suddenly looked very hopeful and perhaps even relieved.

_Imoen, you're a genius. _

_Roll with it!_

"Why would you think you were _bad_?" the thief asked innocently as she sorted out her thoughts. "Couldn't you _hear_ how excited I was?"

He swallowed. "The whole inn could hear you." He shifted. "But you didn't finish."

An unexpected and pleased brush rose to her cheeks. _Oh-ho! You care! I win! I win, I win, I win!_ "Well..." her voice was probably a little giddy, "as far as I can tell, and on average, it takes a woman about _twice_ as long as a man to finish. Plus, usually, she's more sensitive outside than in. So touching ends up one of the big secrets to awesome sex."

Edwin frowned at her. "You _normally _finish by hand...?" he asked doubtfully, clearly uncertain whether to believe this outrageous assertion.

"I have the good sense to be attracted to men with lovely hands," she countered slyly, testing to see if her wizard might be coaxed into a little more exploration next time.

Edwin stared at her, divining the veracity of these statements from her face. Then he propped himself up on his elbows and leaned over as if to investigate the matter for himself.

"E-edw-?" Then the feeling of his hand against the interior of her thigh, gently parting her legs again, silenced her. A heat rose in her face.

"You are still aroused," he noted with curious tilt of his head.

" 'Finishing' is a little subjective for a woman," the thief squeaked nervously, her fingers curling hesitantly against his tattooed skin. " 'Cascading chain reaction of peaks which eventually slakes psychological need using physical sensation' is probably more accura-ah-_ah_!"

She squirmed in delight, and bit her lip as the pads of his fingers slid gently over her underside. "Oh. _Oh_. P-please." Her wizard looked back at her as if startled. Her eyes rounded. "_Please,_" she breathed.

Edwin hesitated, and suddenly looked uncertain of himself. Then, with a slight crack: "H-_how_, exactly...?"

...

* * *

Fingers brushed lightly over the entryway to her sex but, when she didn't moan, they retreated. Then they ease through moist curls, and the flat of the middle finger slowly pressed over the curve of the hood.

"There," Imoen blurted instructively. "G-gentle-?"

The fingers paused and then slowly withdrew and eased back down into place. Imoen quivered and bit her lip through moan, her fingers smoothing up his arm so that she could hold on to his shoulders. _Tattoos. Pretty, pretty, pretty tattoos. _Her gaze roved over them and up to his face. _Wow._

He scooted to lean further over her, and draped his other arm across her. She sucked in a shaky breath and then murmured contentedly as his fingers explored and experimented. Her eyes closed, her heart rate elevating and her toes kneading across the sheets as she _enjoyed_ this.

The wizard swallowed, listening to her and paying attention to how her thigh muscles tensed and relaxed under his palm. _Loud. Of course she is loud. When is she ever quiet? _He encircled her sex with the pad of his fingertips, and her whimpers and huffs of excitement sent tingles along his spine. _Rhetorical question. Rhetorical question...! _He stroked her, his motions speeding up slowly to see if that would earn him more ecstatic cries. It did- though only for a short while. Then he noticed she seemed uncomfortable. "What did I-?"

"Friction-" she murmured thickly. "Reach... down."

His brain attempted to translate that. He dipped his fingers down to her sex and realizing he could feel fresh moisture. As he retracted back up through her folds, she squirmed and cried out in enthusiasm. Her fingers tightened against his back and shoulder. He breathed in slowly, resuming his faster pace and occasionally seeking moisture. _Good._

"Nh-uah-mm! E-_edwin, _I hate you," she complained in blissful dismay, her breath coming in hard, voiced pants. "_Why_ don't you have any _h-hair_?_"_

He choked out a laugh, shifting further into her.

"W-what am I s-supposed to hold on to?" she whined, her fingers smoothing over the muscles in his neck and shakily tracing tattoos. "Hair, you_ need h-hair, _okay? So I can run my fingers t-through-! Ah-!"

Her thighs were slicked with sweat as she flexed her knees and clung to his ribs. As one of his hands teased her towards completion, the other smoothed down the interior of her leg and pressed against her interior canal.

"_Sh-Sharp!_" Imoen disagreed abruptly with his intention, kneeing his elbow. He shot her a disbelieving look. She laughed through ragged, excited gulps of air, "Y-you watch those nails, _Red Wizard_, or I will pay you back ten-fold the next time my hands are anywhere near _your_ privates."

He swallowed visibly, and not because of the threat. He hugged her between the curve of his elbow and the side of his body, and then pushed himself up to lean on one hand so he could watch her face as he stroked in languid circles. She tilted her head back, shuddering.

"K-keep..." she begged as his eyes tracked her face.

His fingers tightened on the sheets and his caresses redoubled.

"N-n s-slow, j-just... just ngh..." she whimpered, overwhelmed.

Calibrations were had. He eased back to the rate and pressure of attention she'd praised. When she writhed as if in pain, he hissed and his fingers looked elsewhere. He stroked along her folded where his fingers gathered moisture, and then he ghosted delicately up along her hood. Her legs shook. Her hopeful whimpers encouraged him. His fingers settled back down just below her apex, and swam in slow circles.

"Ohhh... oh don't... don't st... mmn..."

She twisted slightly onto her side and ground her hips back against his side, and he settled closer to her so that he could keep his hand in place. She could feel he was partially aroused that way, and her fingers tightened on his shoulder.

"Keep doing that," she begged, arching.

He continued on precisely with the attentions she had praised. Her thighs clenched and her body straightened slightly. She bit her lip and rolled up her eyes.

A cry of relief tore out from her and she bucked slightly against his languid motions. He could feel her pulse in her nether regions. He shuddered, caressing her slowly until her thighs closed tightly against the stimulus, and he gathered that she was done. But when he tried to withdraw his hand, she grabbed his elbow.

"Move very slightly," his thief whispered.

He glanced at her face and then obeyed. At first she shifted as if hesitant or uncomfortable. Then she uncoiled and glanced up at him. A smirk passed over her face and then she slowly lifted up one leg, and straightened out till the toes were pointed clear towards the ceiling.

He blew out a shuddering breath and situated himself to lean on his elbow as he reached under her.

"F-fast-" she breathed hoarsely. "Light?"

He obliged. She writhed and cried out, and it was clear she was more aroused and sensitive than she had been moments ago. He swallowed thickly, caressing her rapidly to earn cries of frantic concentration.

She shrieked, and he felt the potency of her climax in the way her body clenched.

As soon as her senses returned, she whimpered encouragingly to him, and he kept touching. As he coaxed her down from hypersensitivity, she begged him to go fast, and her leg wrapped back until the toes brushed the small of his back in a way he would not have anticipated was comfortable. Her third peak followed in no less than sixty seconds, and the fourth and final one he coaxed out nearly immediately by no more than quivering rhythmically against her.

She slumped; shaking, covered in sweat and panting. He caressed gently along her thighs for a few moments, because this time she seemed to find it soothing. Then he withdrew his hand and wiped it against the sheets.

The moments passed them in stunned silence as she gulped for hair and he shook the kinks out of his wrist and stretched his fingers.

"I can't... believe you... you did that for me," she rasped, rolling into him with closed eyes and a big grin. "I... I can't... hnn... Heh... oh..."

He took in a slow breath, staring at his fingers as if confused by them. They smelled of her. Of musk. He grimaced and then turned and settled back down against her and pulled her firmly up against him. "Go to sleep," he whispered.

Imoen nestled into him. He got his shoulder under her head, and his forearms wrapped about her shoulders and head. (_Strawberries.)_

The minutes rolled by, long and quiet. She was still awake, however, when she felt him prop himself up and feel under their pillows. A moment later, he had retrieved his spellbook, and he laid it out flat on the other side of her. He had summoned a quill and inkwell to himself and then breathed life into a very soft magelight.

The pen scratched over paper, just behind her.

"Are you taking notes?" Imoen asked into his collar bone.

She heard a loud, startled scratch, and then silence.

The thief grinned and sighed a big, exhausted, happy sigh. "I love you, Edwin."

...

* * *

"Lad are ye goin senile!? I told ye ta stay off the floor!" an angry halfling demanded from nowhere.

"Are you blind, old hag, or can't you see the _Mohrg_ which is trying to harvest my internals!?" he sassed back, hurling splinters of ice back at his pursuit. Mohrgs moved much like puppets on marionette strings, which made predicting their movements difficult. But if he could _just _manage to pin one edge of that tongue down for a moment, then he could perhaps get around to the other side of it!

The golem shifted as it tried to thrash at him, and huge gobs of poisonous ichor dribbled from his mouth to splash upon the stones beside him.

"Get the feck outta there so I can drop this thing!" she shouted back, drawing some undead attention back onto herself. "There are mummies crawling out of the walls just fifty paces ahead o ye!"

So there were; and a golem bearing down on him from above. He sucked in a breath between his teeth, and sprinted past where giant bone nails were crashing down through the cobbles around him. Ice brimmed around his fingers. The Mohrg was _right _behind him, and gaining. Closer-!

Gorion spun about. With a crack, his _Ice Lance_ exploded into being, filling the room from end to end like a lightnign bolt, and skewering the Mohrg along its length. The mage added on a few syllables and gave a vicious swipe with his hands; and ice crackled down from the point of impact to bind the undead monster's legs.

It screamed at him, and clawed, and its tongue came up so close to his face that its hooked teeth filled his vision, and he could see many inches down its throat. The golem lumbered about to point its head towards him again.

Gorion backed up, calling on the words for _Haste_. The transmutation took hold and he quickly turned about in the direction he'd come and sprinted away. "Get Ready!" he shouted to Tallix, though he still had no idea how she was going to kill a golem.

His rear foot left the hallway just as the massive thing drew a bead on him and started to charge. Poison built up between its jaws, and leaked out ahead of it in plumes.

Gorion spun about just in time to hear a high-pitched shattering noise. The golem bent awkwardly along the spine, and its jaw sagged. Then its entire head slipped from its moorings, tumbling towards the ground with a hail of bone shards and cracking vertebrae. Its limbs came apart at the joints, and the inanimate whole of it plunged towards the ground.

No sooner had a single broken piece of the golem touched the cobblestone floor than suddenly a great seam had opened up in the ground. The air went artificially _Silent, _such that Gorion could not even hear his own heartbeat. And although the earth had seemed plenty sturdy enough with a golem scrabbling around on top of it, it swung open now with all the ominous silence of a grave, onto a chasm four hundred feet deep and lined in razor-sharp pike heads.

The golem fell. The angry Mohrg fell. The mummies, skeletons, and zombies fell. Tallix stepped forward along a raised bony shoulder blade, her muscles bunching as she prepared a jump to safety.

Then the _ceiling_ opened up as well, dropping a tightly packed carpet of javelins like they were no more than packed straw, while massive axe heads dangling upon spiked chains fell from the furthermost end of the hall.

_Act._

...

* * *

"I didn't need your help," Tallix pouted grumpily as she swung past where Gorion was standing.

"Mm-hmm," Gorion hummed smugly, his hair and robes fluttering. "I see."

The halfling was sitting calmly upon the side of one of the gigantic axes, and its momentum was carrying her back and forth, back and forth, along the length of the tremendous hall. Unless Gorion wanted to shout, this meant he could only really speak to her while she was on his side. Which was ridiculous. Ridiculous enough to leave him _happy_.

"That must be why," he supposed on her return, "you absolutely told me 'Gorion, the ceiling is trapped' while mentioning the floor."

"Woulda been completely fine..." she groused as she swung away again, and he thought he heard something about 'stealin me thunder...'

Gorion glanced up at the swinging chains of the axe heads, and then looked over at where he had erected a ceiling of ice midway across the hall. A large number of javelins were still embedded in its exterior, but it had served its purpose in providing Tallix with shelter.

"...wizards always thinkin they're so great, and need to fix everything with magic, instead of with..." muttered a grumpy halfling as she flew by again.

He raised a brow, and grinned to himself. "Would you have rather I became paralyzed in a fit of hysteric anxiety?" he queried of the relatively empty hallway.

Although he didn't hear anything- not so much as the tinkle of a chain or the thud of boots on the ground- the axe swung back across the hall with no rider to be seen. Gorion blinked and looked behind him to see Tallix standing not more than two inches away.

"Nae, nae, I'll forgive ye," she dismissed, reaching out to straighten his robes and inspect him for Mohrg bites. "That the first real scrap ye've been in fer decades?"

"Yes." He thought about the question, and then laughed and winced slightly. "My palms are sweaty, my left leg wants to detach from my body, my side is cramping, my mouth is dry, and every muscle between my shoulderblades aches something foul."

Tallix coughed and looked away guiltily, before reaching back to press at her own lumber region with a wince. Gorion heard an audible crackle. "I'm obviously young, spry, and beautiful and I ain't got a clue what yer goin through. Nae, not a whit."

Gorion stared at her. His lips twitched. Then he started to laugh, and closed his eyes, delighted and exhausted all in one. "We're _old_," he cackled as an axe swung past them again. Old, and he needed a glass of water; he'd forgotten just how much of a bite _Haste_ spells took out of a person.

"_Old_!?" Tallix demanded angrily. "Yer _half me age_, lad! And yer an aasimar, so dinnae give me that race bullshit! After ye've gone and run about another fifty-summat years like this, doin dungeon acrobatics and pullin off darin escapes, then ye can come back to me and we'll talk about _Old!"_

He kept laughing, and as he did so he he reached out to steady himself against her and also to examine her for any injuries she might be concealing. She kept him from blundering into any axe traps. He ended up hugging her more than anything else, while wishing she was just a little bit taller so that he could kiss her forehead.

...

* * *

[Author's Note]

... _Wizards. _

I don't buy that 2e _Haste_ spells should artificially age you, but I can definitely see them functioning like Magic Caffeine and leaving you tired and dehydrated for a short while afterwards...!

Remember to have a look at my deviantart page!


	25. Friendship Callibrations

Author's Note: As I said, gonna be a little slow updating cause I'm working on some other stuff :) However, definitely still inspired! I recently updated my profile so that it will appropriately show my spydrouge. deviantart. com account, which it had stopped doing recently and unbeknownst to me.

Newest artworks are 'Homen Nadezdha Odesseiron' (For you Surthay fans!)), 'Ranger and Necromancer' (naked bonding time!), 'Xzar and Aegis Pinup' (Yes, they have TWO new artworks, only this one is clothed/armored...) and 'You have fifteen seconds' (this one I did for Truth or Tale II, but it's of her Edwin, and it's quite splendidly nude ;))

...

* * *

_**Friendship Calibrations**_

...

* * *

A Pink Thief settled self-consciously onto the edge of the booth, and scooped up the mug she'd found waiting for her. It was coffee, she saw, brewed mean and black the way she liked it. Edwin had placed it on the same side of the table as himself, and left plenty of room for her to sit. She looked slowly up at her wizard.

Edwin only glanced at her. Then he resumed staring out at nothing and sipping upon his coffee.

Imoen scooted an awkward inch further into the booth. She looked all around herself, and thought perhaps that she was searching for a topic of conversation. When none occurred to her, she instead rested her elbows on the table and leaned forward over her cup. She blew steam from the surface.

They sat in silence, then. Awkwardly, but _together, _and that last was pleasant enough.

It was late afternoon and heading towards evening. The weather outside was completely _blah_ as had fast become old news, but Feldpost's was warm with the strength of its hearth. The Juggler would be, too, when they got back. They _had_ to go back. The only thing that sounded more embarrassing than confronting their fellows after all this, would be confronting them while both naked after Aegis had kicked their bedroom door in an anxious fit over why they'd gone missing all day.

_Hee!_ _That would be silly._

And Edwin didn't look like he could safely handle much more 'silly' that evening. Or, well, much of anything else for that matter. Certainly not an exploded door.

Glancing sideways at him, Imoen could tell her wizard was off-balance. It looked as though he'd withdrawn into himself to work out what had happened, or else how that 'happening' ought to fit into his mental picture of the universe.

She tapped thoughtfully at her mug.

_Hmm. _

A confused Edwin who didn't know where to place any of his feelings sounded rather akin to a black powder cache: only harmless if left unmolested. Given her druthers, Imoen might have left him in his own head for a few hours more, particularly as it seemed to be filled with a great many Important Things which all needed to be Investigated, Folded, and then organized into their Proper Places. Heavens forbid that anything should get lost in there!

But she'd have a black cat's luck explaining her reasoning to people like Xan (Oh gods, had Jaheira told _Xan_ about today? Eek!), what with recent events. And he'd made some really dumb decisions lately, so it wasn't as though he deserved much courtesy. The world's most retarded genius; that was Edwin Nythra Odesseiron-

_Edwin :)_

As she watched him, just sitting there, she could recall the flow of those tattoos where they started and spiraled under the red of his robes. Pretty, pretty, _pretty_ tattoos, tracing down his arms and legs and- She realized her thoughts had wandered off on her, and looked quickly back to her coffee in an effort to find them again.

_Oh, right. Going back to the Juggler. Whelp... _The thief took a bolstering slurp of her coffee, sat up straight, and then look askance at her wizard once more.

"So like I was saying!" she announced blithely, and clearly startled the hell out of him. "We need a bigger room! Now I've done listened to your silly protests of 'this person will think that', and 'that person will think this,'" she laid on his accent thick while mimicking his voice, and his eyes steadily narrowed at each and every ridiculously exuberant presumption, "but to all that, I think I made some _incredibly convincing _counter-arguments." She wagged her brows and then lifted her chin and grinned from ear to ear. "So what do you have to say to that?"

Edwin Odesseiron stared at her for a very, very, very long duration of time.

_Enough_ time that Imoen's confidence deflated out from under her again like a trampled frog. Or a leaky, gnomish balloon. Or a gnomish, frog-shaped balloon, which had been trampled and now was leaky. In a seamstress's pin box.

Wow, did _she_ feel giddy. Giddy and strangely doomed._ Heh, 'doomed.'_ She was thinking in Xannisms! Did he always have these cramps in his stomach wherever he went? That might explain why he was perpetually cranky...

Her (somewhat hysterical) thoughts were interrupted by Edwin's reply, which he delivered in a quiet, tight voice:

"Your petition for the enlargement of the aforementioned living space has been reviewed and summarily approved by its committee."

Imoen blinked quietly up at her wizard for a moment, digesting these words. Then she felt her cheeks burning scarlet for reasons that didn't make any sense, and she blushed back down at her coffee. _We are going to have a feather bed from now on? One?_

Edwin shifted in his seat. A moment passed before he spoke again. "The next issue to take the floor is the matter of important purchases and camping equipment," he informed her as he turned away and inspected his own mug. "To which it has been submitted that the committee requires but a _single_ tent for its usage. Though, preferably, a spacious one."

"Hmmm," Imoen pondered, and she cleared her throat to dispel lingering anxiety. "I suppose that decision hinges on the subpoena of some crucial information."

He tapped his nails on the table. "Such as?"

"Well the committee has heard some disturbing testimony about equality lately, and wishes to know whether tent-related labors, such as pitching and disassembly, will be shared equally by all its members?"

Edwin's mouth quirked. "Kwefai, I would expect that any tent maintained by you would start leaking vital components into the black hole of your bag of holding within a fortnight. And that any tent _pitched_ by you, particularly when you think you have something to prove, would collapse if someone breathed too loudly in its vicinity. Given that I would much prefer it stay upright, and perform its tently duties precisely as I expect of it, I will be sure to assist in both its assembly and disassembly."

"I see." She gave a crisp nod. "Very well then, the motion to purchase a single tent has been granted." She was quiet for a moment, and then looked shrewdly up at him. "You said 'tently.' Tently duties. _You_ made up a _word_."

The corner of his mouth tugged to the side and he nodded vacantly for a moment. "It seems I did." Then he looked back at her and arched a brow, with his face blank and his mouth pressed thin.

Imoen doubted many people could have read that expression as 'distressed.' The way he was holding himself looked almost defensive, she thought, huddled over his coffee rather than affecting haughtiness or dignity.

An endeared smile glowed to encompass her expression, and she scooted all the way into the booth and up against him. Her wizard bristled slightly upon this wholly unsolicited introduction of her physical presence. Then he straightened, and his lips parted as if he had recognized a meaningful social clue, but couldn't seem to conjure up an idea of how he ought to respond. She smiled reassuringly up at him.

Edwin glanced awkwardly about, and then woodenly lifted up his arm to better accommodate her. Imoen slipped under it and nestled up contentedly at his side. He placed the arm stiffly about her shoulders, and then stared at the appendage critically as if attempting to ascertain whether this was indeed what he had intended to do with it.

"Hey." He looked at her. She stretched up and kissed his prickly chin. "I'm glad you're here." They were the only simple words she could think of to say a lot of complicated stuff.

Her wizard watched her face for a moment. His arm melted more naturally about her shoulders. He shifted his weight and looked back at his coffee. Then his grip tightened into a squeeze, keeping her precisely where she'd applied herself.

They finished their drinks in silence, then. Awkwardly, but _together_.

...

* * *

Tallix sat him down and felt over the muscles of his back, to help him pull the kinks out of his spine and shoulder. "Ngh. Thank you."

"Nae problem lad; we just need tune-ups more than our young selves did."

For all that this was true, Gorion did not feel defeated by his age. His reflexes were sluggish, yes, and his stamina wasn't what it had used to be, granted, but there was a strangely familiar _thrill_ to being so many paces below the earth, tromping through mausoleums of the damned.

Tallix had been right: this was better than sitting around, wringing his hands, slowly going mad with impotency. There was something of 'adventurehood' in his blood, perhaps.

"Are you ready to head forward, then?" the aasimar queried, pulling himself back to his feet. His knees protested a little, and he thought that perhaps it was time to start considering the benefits of a quarterstaff over a belt knife in the not so distant future.

"Not _forward_," Tallix chuckled, and then pointed to where the javelins and axe heads had come from. "Up."

Gorion glanced at her in surprise, but then nodded and began to weave a levitation spell.

The two ascended up into where the false ceiling had hidden its deadly payload.

"Suppose this means the tomb interior's got a chance o bein undisturbed," Tallix noted as she examined the architecture. "This trap's got no magic ta reset it, looks like. This was the first time it was ever sprung."

"Well, given that it appeared to need the golem to die," Gorion mused, "I'd say you are right. Someone else might have snuck past it using a combination of invisibility and a Mantle of Undeath. But personally, I wouldn't have recommended doing so to them. Mages can embed all sorts of interesting spells into their creations. Like tremorsense, or truesight."

"Aye, I hear that. How'd ya think they'd intended ta refill this?" Tallix wondered aloud of the trap, sort of impressed. "That were like, _thousands _of spears back there."

Gorion's mouth quirked. "Perhaps they didn't think much past, 'Arg, someone has gotten through our impregnable defenses, quick, defeat it with overkill,'" the wizard supposed monotonically.

His halfling laughed, feeling along the stone with a critical eye. "That sounds a likely truth. Ah. Here!" she called at last, beckoning him to make his way a little closer. "This is a door."

"A door?"

"Aye! How'd ya think they built and filled this false ceiling in the first place?" Tallix cackled, pulling a prisebar from nowhere and easing the tip into whatever gap she'd found.

"I suppose I didn't think to ask," he mused, scratching thoughtfully at his chin.

"Ye need ta befriend more dwarves and less elves, lad. There isn't a better expert on traps in all Faerun, from Calimshan to Mulhorand, than a clever dwarven rogue who's got a siege or two under his belt. Makes for the best damn dungeoneers in the world, they do. Double the points if the siege were against drow, ha!" With a few careful prying motions, she'd opened up a dusty old passage broad enough for a single man to travel.

"A little claustrophobic, isn't it?" Gorion noted as he drifted up beside his partner. "Not my preferred environment for combatting undead."

"I'd still rather walk where the trapper did than in the places he'd done trapped," Tallix assessed, climbing up into the passage. She dusted her hands off, and then reached out to Gorion. He took her hand and let her pull him onto the edge.

The wizard thanked her, straightened up, and the peered shrewdly down the long and narrow hallway. It seemed to travel perfectly straight for a little over one hundred feet, before turning sharply to the right. "There is going to be an arcane trap near that bend in the corridor," he predicted firmly. "And it is going to be a _Lightning Bolt_, mark my words."

...

* * *

Xan and Branwen returned from the clothier that afternoon with enough alterations to Xan's _Robes of the Archmagi_ that it was readily apparent that the elf had levied a previously unexpected Everskan sense of fashion upon his seamstress. Xzar noticed them almost as soon as they entered the inn, and grinned at what he saw.

Well, their enchanter was now considerably better prepared for slogging around through snow drifts and knee-high brambles, that was true, yes. But the robes had also gone through some extensive tailoring, grown quite a few layers of fabric, and blossomed with silver-threaded embroidery work.

Xzar, with lips pursed thoughtfully, wondered if this might have anything to do the mental aftershocks of meeting a certain uncle, one who supposedly was still in Beregost and who might turn up again in unexpected places. In any event, Branwen certainly seemed impressed; she kept stealing glances down at her partner as they walked.

"Oh!" something occurred to the necromancer. He spun in his chair and tugged at Aegis' arm. "Ae! Can I _tell_ him about-? Can I tell him? Please, please, please!?"

Aegis glanced back at him from where she'd been keeping an eye on Kivan; Coran's drow-loving antics seemed to have temporarily disabled their archer's higher functioning mental abilities, and he had been staring at his broken arrow shaft with furrowed brows for well over half an hour.

"What?" she asked, and then noticed their returning party members. "Oh. You're _volunteering_? I was just about to suggest we _draw straws_..."

"Oh _no_, I'd _love_ to...!" the necromancer clapped. Aegis scratched the back of her head, trying to figure out what Xzar was up to. Then she straightened in her chair and her eyes narrowed perceptively.

"Are you trying to get someone killed without my permission again?"

Xzar squeaked, drawing his arms back to himself in surprise. Then he sat on his hands and looked bashfully up at her as he kicked his feet playfully back and forth. "Maaayyybeee?"

Xan reached them and raised a brow as he hovered over his chair, though it was Viconia who asked first on his behalf: "What is the madman babbling about?"

Shar-Teel barked out a laugh. "Oh, _I'll_ tell them! Hey, pipsqueak, your little _friend_-"

Xan was fairly sure that Shar-Teel ought to be the very last person in line to tell him anything: good or bad, gently _or_ with intention to incite. Fortunately, he was saved from her indelicate handling by Imoen, whose arrival on the premises was heralded by her dramatic shout of:

"_Shartoodles, _you stop right there!" which displayed such a fantastically evolving nickname that it bemused nearly everyone, and certainly forestalled the reveal of any information. Shar-Teel herself gaped for a brief moment and then broke out laughing and slapped her knee.

Xan turned around to see Imoen had returned with Edwin in tow. Of _course_ Edwin was in tow. Perhaps, Xan thought, he might convince Minsc to befriend the pink-haired girl. The omnipresent odors of of goodly heroism and hyper masculinity would probably serve as an admirable form of Red Wizard repellant...

Imoen poked Shar-Teel accusingly in the arm and shoulder as she passed, grinning. "If anyone's gonna tells him, it ought to be me!" she teased

"Tell me _what_?" Xan prompted with a sigh; he wagered whatever this was about, it was bound to cause him headaches and nausea.

Imoen's eyes lit up as she looked to Xan. She opened her mouth, but then abruptly looked nervous and shut it again. "Ah," she tried a second time. "Well... um... ya see..."

Xan crossed his arms and tilted his head to the side.

The thief shifted uncomfortably and looked anywhere but at her friend. "Well, what I mean to say is... That is, I sort of... I mean-"

Edwin stared quietly down at the girl for a moment. Then, as she continued to fumble, he lifted a hand and rubbed the whole of his face in disbelief.

"Well you know back at the camp, when I, uh... Well, it's sort of complicated, and what I _really mean to say-_"

"Yes, what this pink baboon _means to say_," enunciated a Red Wizard, who was pinching the bridge of his nose that he might possibly maintain his patience, "is that, as of this morning, _we_ are romantically involved." He dropped his hand and looked tiredly past them, towards the innkeeper. "So if you will excuse me, I need to go procure a larger suite."

At first, Xan did not react. Ajantis jumped. Viconia's eyes widened in startlement.

Shar-Teel laughed harder. "_Romantically_!?" the fightress protested in amusement, particularly because the word had come out of _Edwin_. "You just _fucked_ in a public place!"

"And then in a private one. Twice. Can we change the subject, or does anyone here actually believe they are entitled to detailed accounts of other people's personal time?"

Xan's lower jaw drooped in disbelief. He looked stunned from the Red Wizard to the Pink Thief. "I-_Imoen_-!" he protested, clearly disgusted. Then he quickly glared back at Edwin. "H-how _dare_-!"

"Evasive action!" The thief squealed in interruption, grabbing at her Red Wizard's sleeve. "Quick! You use a dimension door and I'll dive out a window! We can regroup in five!"

Edwin grabbed her by the scruff and pushed her forward again. "Tempting (but sadly most likely to be ineffectual). If I can to endure their murderous stares, than you can at least survive their _disapproval_. Particularly as I seem to remember _you _started this."

"No I didn't," she chirped.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You _absolutely _did."

"Uh-uh"

"Imoen."

"Nope." She shook her head dumbly.

"You _attacked_ me!" the Red Wizard spat. He was at the end of his daily allotment of nonsense, and it showed in his aggravated posture and the slashing timbre of his voice.

"Attacked? Hmm, 'attacked,' 'attacked,' hmm. Oh! You mean when I molested you in the back of the shop?"

"_Yes!_" he spat, before recoiling an instant later. "Wait-! I mean-!"

"Well, there you have everyone!" Imoen beamed, whirling back towards Xan with delight. "Edwin was molested. No thieves coerced or taken advantage of in the course of this narrative, nope! Ooh! The bartender made a _roast_!? Ye gods, it's mine! Doo-dee-dooooo!"

And with that, Imoen skipped off past and through everyone else, and bounded off to peruse the delicious items available from the Juggler that evening. Nearly everyone stared after her with gapes of dismay, though probably none quite so potently as Edwin himself.

Xan spun back towards the conjurer, and his confused stare snapped the conjurer back to temporal awareness. "Y-_you-?_" the elf began, and three or for other people looked about ready to start talking as well, but Edwin threw his hands up prohibitively and cut them all off with a hiss:

"Unless anyone wants to be spoon fed a _Fireball_, they will hold sensibly silent, and permit me to exit this conversation with my sanity- whatever fragment the thief has not yet absconded with- still intact."

He stared his party members down for the briefest of moments, and then, before anyone could rally their senses or assemble a reply, he set off after Imoen.

Xan put his hand on his Moonblade hilt, though whether this was for comfort and stability or because he intended to draw it, Branwen couldn't immediately tell. The Norheimer grabbed her elf's shoulder anyway to keep him from doing anything foolish. Xzar dissolved into giggles. Viconia sat back to think. Aegis, a little red-faced, decided to check on Kivan again. Ajantis looked as if his brain might boil out of his ears from sheer embarrassment, and he finally asked a desperate:

"_What_?!"

Which seemed to sum up the situation quite nicely for all of them, actually.

...

* * *

{What Was _That?} _a Thayvian demanded in a low voice as he stalked up to loom behind her.

Each and every one of Imoen Winthrop's instincts told her this question deserved a blithely irreverent response. The impulse to be flippant was so natural and so strong, that she had to bite her lips closed.

Her wizard gave her a dirty look.

{Hey,} she chuckled, passing him the key to their new room, {don't armor up against me just yet; we're on the same team, ya know!}

His dirty look intensified.

_Woops! _Imoen took in a deep breath to sober herself. {You're honestly just gonna have to forgive me for that one,} she admitted. {But it looks like I managed to turn about everyone's preconceived notions, so I'd say it was pretty successful.}

Edwin snorted, dissatisfied. Still, receiving any reasonably straightforward answer did give him a moment's pause. He glanced back towards the party before inspecting her more closely. {Your tactics for defusing those fools show a disturbing tendency toward making _me_ look incompetent.}

{Incompetent, or just less threatening?} she asked as her food arrived on a tray.

{Are they not the same?} he growled almost rhetorically.

{No! Well, not to our party. I mean, _everyone_ knows you're a phenomenal wizard, but being threatening hasn't been doing you any favors.}

This surprised him. {What ground do you give me to work with, then, if you would have them neither respect _nor_ fear me!? Threats are a form of check and balance, whereby social systems are held together!}

_Oh wow! _Imoen wanted to launch into a lengthy argument about _that_ immediately. It was rare to get so much tidy insight into how Edwin thought! She opened her mouth to say something, but then took stock of her party members' cross-tavern stares, and the dark circles under Edwin's eyes. _Focus, _she thought, gnawing her lower lip. _You need to help him take some mental down time first. Weigh your answer...!_

{The... The things this group _fears_, it typically marks as high priority targets,} she countered matter-of-factly. Edwin, who thought he had won the point, stiffened slightly and then seemed to think on this. {But what I probably _shouldn't_ do is _ever _tease you around other Thayvians, Shadow Thieves, or Black Network operatives. Right?}

Edwin eyed her with half a scowl. Imoen raised her brows. His lips pressed into a thin line and he looked momentarily away.

Imoen took in a slow breath and let it out just as quietly. Then she picked up her tray and placed it into her Thayvian's grasp. {Here.}

He stepped backwards and spat a startled, {I am not hungry,} as he tried to refuse.

{Take it upstairs,} she suggested. {It might look more appetizing after some rest.}

Edwin straightened in hesitation, reflexively catching the weight of the tray as she released it. {You are sending me to _bed_?} he growled in disbelief, and then became even more indignant when he heard himself voice the words aloud.

His thief leaned back for a moment, and her eyes widened slightly as if she were surprised. Then she shook her head and stepped into him, and her hands settled, unexpectedly, upon his shoulders. {I was thinking that you might like the quiet,} she told him as she straightened his collar and smoothed the fabric at his shoulders. Edwin frowned, puzzled. {No one would find it odd. And you look very tired.}

He studied her suspiciously, searching for barbs under her warm tone and endearingly hopeful expression. On finding none (had he expected to?) he tried to maintain his discontent, only to feel it lapse out into weary bafflement beneath him. Imoen smiled softly. He scowled at her, more out of reflex than substantiated vexation.

{I can handle public relations with all these simians for a few hours,} she added conversationally. {I'm the one who loves to chatter, after all. What say you of that plan, Mr. 'Romantically Involved?'}

Edwin did not snap at her. He let out a slow breath through his nose and looked off to the side, affecting to be irritable. Still, her statements were accurate and it was perfectly valid that he should go and ward their new bedroom. He glanced back at her and sighed. {When will you retire?} he asked, taking the tray for himself.

Imoen grinned, and turned to order a wine for him. {That depends,} she told him conspiratorially as the bartender fetched the bottle. {You wanna try and go four for four later, and break both our records?}

Had Edwin been less tired in that moment, he might have had something to mutter about thieves and their suppositions concerning 'records.' As it was, he paused mid-motion and blinked a few times, commandeering all kinetic energy that he might power essential mental functions.

{...Edwin?}

{I am going to take this opportunity to raise soundproofing wards,} he concluded, and then was quiet again for a moment. {(Yes. That, exactly.)} He nodded, and reached out to take his drink as it arrived. {Nine,} he suggested so as to give the world some order. She very nearly combusted with excitement, and he straightened up in confusion. {What?}

{Wouldn't miss it for the world,} his thief squeaked happily. _Happily._

Edwin swallowed, stared, and realized he had no idea what to say.

...

* * *

"Your taste in man-whores is all over the place," Shar-Teel complained as Imoen returned to the party with dinner.

Since there wasn't much one could say to that, Imoen just winked. Ajantis cleared his throat uncomfortably. Viconia was quiet. Jaheira raised a brow at the fightress.

Imoen rolled her eyes, rounded the table, and came to take a vacant seat beside Xan. The elf frowned at her approach. She smiled at him. "I wager you dun wanna hear about what _I_ did today," she noted wryly, "so how about you tell me about all this snazzy embroidery, eh?" she tugged at the edge of his robes.

Xan was quiet a moment, and his eyes lowered thoughtfully. He glanced across the table then, spying Shar-Teel's predatory grin and the invisible cogs churning within Viconia DeVir's head. _There_ was an incentive to stay calm and collected. He gave a haughty stiff, and the nodded politely to Imoen and took his seat with her.

"It cost a few coins," the elf explained his transactions, "but it was a trifle beside anything important we might need to buy and... I'll admit it did help me to feel a bit more like myself."

"Like a handsome, stuffy, elegant, knightly wizard?" she asked hopefully, grinning over her roast.

Xan straightened in alarm. "_Knightly_?" he protested, for such words bordered on the obscene.

"You have a sword and very strong feelings about responsibility. You are hereby the world's knightliest wizard!" she teased him with evil glee. "It's why you don't like Ajantis; you totally feel he's doing knightliness wrong!"

Xan bristled like a princely purple porcupine, and looked incredibly displeased with this assessment. Then his pout flattened into an expression half grimace and half smile. "I refuse to admit you have said anything even vaguely resembling the truth," he informed her nasally and with a lift of his chin. "But... it did put a funny mental picture in my head."

Imoen grinned. "Ya look _splendid, _Gloomy," she told him, and by then it seemed that everyone had registered there would be no fireworks between Pink and Purple that evening. Shar-Teel challenged Minsc to an arm wrestling competition, Ajantis and Khalid broke into an awkward conversations about different shield varieties, and normal party volumes resumed.

Xan eyed his garment and the nodded. "Thank you." He watched the table for a moment and then looked sincerely up at her face. [Are... are you alright?] he asked with a switch to elvish.

Imoen nodded rapidly as she swallowed her food, and then smiled at him as soon as her mouth was clear. [I'm _so_ much better than okay. I wear my emotions very nearly on my sleeve, I think!]

Xan tracked her expression, as if searching her eyes. [Very nearly, but not quite. I know well that man is cruel.]

Imoen pursed her lips to the side and her brows furrowed upward as if she were a little dismayed. [Well... Xan, where am I even supposed to _start? _I mean, how does one argue with an enchanter who thinks he's a phenomenal judge of character, about an extremely guarded Thayvian who would feel violently betrayed if one of the only people he's ever trusted started sharing stuff about him? Is there a guidebook to this, something I could brush up on...?]

The elf's brows furrowed slightly. He had been expecting a persuasive argument, emotional deluge, or opinion; not a conversation on methodology. He wasn't entirely sure how to feel about her reply as, after all, he was a rather decent judge of character. After a moment, he shelved it for later consideration. [I suppose I could inspect his thoughts on the matter,] the elf noted dryly, [to discern which of us is right and which is suffering under illusions.]

Imoen quirked a brow, and wagered that the only things going through Edwin Odesseiron's head at that very moment were probably draconic wards and a deluge of confused delight that a woman was pursuing _him_ instead of vise versa. [Xan, do you think I'm stupid, unobservant, or merely careless?]

The wizard tilted his head to the side. [Careless, of course. What would make you believe I think you are stupid?]

_Hehe, __even at their most charismatic, wizards have problems with tact. _[Well you don't seem to believe I have your capacity for discerning fact from falsehood. You want to know everything, so you can judge it. But maybe you really should just trust me. Or pay attention to him; he lets a lot of his insecurities slip between the cracks of his facial expressions.]

The elf sat back in his chair at that, his attention turned inward as he pondered her words.

Briefly, Imoen wondered why _anyone_ had ever gotten it into their head that she'd given Edwin an inch of ground in all their friendship, much less allowed herself to be used in Evil Masterminded Schemes Orchestrated by The World's Least Subtle Evil Wizard Ever. Edwin must have just been way less transparent to other people.

Then perhaps she ought to start having conversations about Edwin with other people while they _weren't_ already angry, to keep them updated? Imoen had partaken in just such a conversation with Aegis, after all, and Aegis had been the first person to give Edwin a Stern Talking To and then largely forgiven him. And anyone who would have attributed that to 'sisterly bias' had clearly never met Aegis' protector complex. Imoen's older sister was more in the habit of giving people what was best for them (like lima beans, yuck!) than whatever it was they _wanted..._

...

* * *

Author's Note:

As I wrote about 'Aegis kicking in doors,' I thought of you, Winding Warpath... And, for no particular reason, I felt some sadness that Aegis has neglected to hold anyone for ransom lately...

I had an incredible urge to name this chapter 'The process by which two people confirm that this _does_ indeed mean they get to update their status on Facebook.'


	26. Who Needs a Warrior?

This Tallix and Gorion chapter inadvertently brought to you by random inspiring comments from Winding Warpath XD. Also thanks to Kaispan, for helping me talk my way through whatever's coming next.

(There are times when I really think that Tallix and Gorion ought to have had their own fic, but seeing as that's not the case I've come to terms with the fact that sometimes their story is just going to randomly interrupt our main story at dramatically convenient times XD. Do forgive me! They have even more to get through than just this chapter, too XD)

Also my husband came home from a dinner with a friend the other day, and I turned around as he said 'She gave us a gift that's... questionable...' to see him setting down a tiny aquarium with two itty bitty teeny weeny little gray hamsters in it.

Now of course we neither asked for nor really wanted another pet at this juncture- and if we had gotten a pet it would have been something scaly and/or awesomesauce to suit my personality- but when two tiny (and admittedly adorable) lives get thrust into your hands, you make do. Yes, yes you make do.

They have been named Bitty Boo and Havarian the Nibbler. I _presume _you simians can tell which of them has the better personality. (I cannot believe I actually named one after 'Boo' Pfeh!)

[Note: It is really hard to spell/grammarcheck chapters with Tallix, as the spellchecker seems to give up on the entire document after her 50th dropped g XD]

...

* * *

**_Who Needs a Warrior?_**

...

* * *

The trapper's tunnel had indeed been filled graced with the _Lightning Bolt_ which Gorion had predicted. As he stepped forward to dispel it, Tallix threw an arm swiftly about his hips and jerked him to a halt. He steadied himself with a hand against the wall lest he trip clear over her.

"Lad, look down and tell me if ye see anythin peculiar."

Gorion frowned, and scrutinized the cold stone surface below. For a moment, nothing seemed out of the ordinary: it was a plain, cracked floor. Then he realized a number of deep cracks joined in a perfect rectangle. "A panel," he breathed, and quickly stepped back and past her shoulder so that she could investigate the matter. "I didn't see."

"Ha! Well ye managed ta find it once I'd pointed yer head in the right direction, and that's honestly impressive from yer ilk," she quipped back as she turned a critical eye on the hallway. "Suppose they figured it would take a thief or a wizard ta find this route, so they proofed against either. But not _both_. Ye see them little holes up there? If ye'd a stepped on this, they'd've doused ye in the face with some poison or another. Aye, here's mortar where they done sealed away the heart of the trap. Give me a second."

The mage watched curiously as she rummaged about on her person and then drew out a vial of something which might have been acidic. As she uncorked the vial and drizzled it over the wall, Gorion saw that the stone was unaffected but the mortar began dissolving immediately._ Oh? That's very interesting. _"Could we just step over the trap?" The wizard asked her.

"Could," she agreed, "but I want a sense o what we're up against. The contents of a trap can tell ye what the trapper were concerned about proofin against, and how good he was at it." She corked the vial and replaced it on her person, and then eased out a thick block of stone from the wall. Behind it, she uncovered a small metal cask, and a clever mechanism for pumping liquid up to the head of the trap. The trap had been oiled well and it seemed its chamber had been proofed against groundwater and lime. When she tried to unscrew the cask, there was no rust to impede her.

"Is that _safe_?" her wizard called.

"Aye, this is a liquid. The trap doesn't have nothin about it suited ta makin vapor. And if they had ta spray ye with it then it's either a contact poison or they're hopin it'll get in yer eyes or mouth," Tallix explained, removing the cask and eyeballing it for suspicious activity.

"I see..."

"Though, even if it weren't, I can't name a poison off the top of me head which I ain't already immune ta." She paused, as if considering this statement to make sure it was true. Then she shrugged and drew the neck up to her nose, and had herself a dainty sniff. "Right! Devil's Helmet," she remarked triumphantly. "They really were proofin fer a mage. Or a cleric, I suppose."

Gorion approached, and glanced at the opposite wall. He could hardly see anything worth making mention of about it, but an identical vent near the ceiling told him the trap was most probably symmetrical. He was careful not to step on any panels. "What is Devil's Helmet?"

"Wolfsbane. Monkshood. Deathbell. All the same basic thing," Tallix rattled off.

Gorion glanced at her, vaguely aware that the plant 'wolfsbane' was a common poison employed in the agricultural professions, and that it was particularly useful to poulterers.

"It's a good poison for puttin down a lame, ballsy, or rabid animal," Tallix explained. "Ye can put it in feed or in bait, and once it's administered there's no real struggle. The critter just calms down and goes ta sleep."

"I am positive," Gorion noted in deadpan, "that disposing of livestock is not how you became acquainted with it."

Tallix pursed her lips in amusement. "Hey lad, the best at this job come from the ranks of the low or the helpless. We don't learn our first tricks from some encyclopedic textbook in a fancy wizard college. We learn cause we've a problem, and we solve it with whatever miserly means we've got a'hand."

"Mmn, and which were you: low or helpless?" he wondered dryly.

"Both," she answered with a dismissive wave as she produced a cap for her newest bottle of Devil's Helmet, "but I'm special lad; ain't many six year olds got what it takes ta kill their own gramma, much less plan it all out in advance."

Smugness disappeared from Gorion's expression, and he raised a brow. After a moment, he asked as if he dreaded all possible answers: "Did she deserve it?"

"Aye, that evil old bint fekkin deserved it," Tallix agreed, testing the cap. Nothing leaked. "But ta answer yer question about what Devil's Helmet is... ye remember way back when, at Waterdeep, when there were a facechanger chasing after yer Jaheira?"

Gorion blinked rapidly at the change of conversational context. "Yes," he did recall.

"Well, when he tried ta off ye, and it felt like yer throat were cloggin up and your head were gettin numb? That were Devil's Helmet. Usually ye've got ta get a target ta ingest it, but the tincture makes a good mixer for alcohol. And anyone drinking alcohol's usually expecting a numbing buzz ta begin with, so it ain't all that hard ta sneak in the kill."

The magus said nothing, peering at her quietly. She continued as she concealed the flask on herself:

"Makes fer a phenomenal wizard or mage killer, as ye no doubt noticed, since it keeps em from speaking clearly and the context might make it impossible for anyone ta notice they're nae just lightweights. What _is_ hard is making a good contact poison outta it, and that takes a stellar alchemist. So any time ye see someone usin a dab or brush of the stuff ta make a kill, ye can size him up as an expert of his craft right quick enough, that's for sure."

Gorion glanced down the hall. Then he shifted his weight and rubbed his face. "This is a very enlightening if somewhat disturbing and morbid conversation," he admitted.

Tallix laughed as she gauged the size and shape of the trigger panel. "Well I were happy ta enlighten ye. And disturb ye. Really, all comes with with the package deal," she grinned as she stepped gingerly across it. Once she'd ascertained the safety of the opposite side, she turned and offered him a hand as if to lead him across. Gorion's stride was much longer than hers, but he took her hand without hesitation.

...

* * *

"I cannae decide if whoever trapped this place was a genius, an idiot, a madman, a bored desk clerk scribbling in the margins of an accounting ledger, or simply drunk," Tallix mused as the party duo surveyed the seemingly endless spiral of false passages, deadly treasure chests, and bizarre physical obstacles. "Maybe all five simultaneously?"

Gorion was nodding with his mouth pursed to the side in perplexed curiosity. They had exited the trapper's tunnel at a purposeful cave in, and found themselves before a long hall of magically greased disks covering over a deep pit that smelled suspiciously of fresh kerosene. There was a clearly a platform beyond the disks, but no clear indication of whether it was even the correct path forward. "I am sorely tempted to apply lateral reasoning to solve the problem of getting across in a clever fashion, but I feel like our trapper's imagination was operating so far outside of the box that the _actual_ gimmick of this scenario could rely entirely on his _expectation_ that I'll behave cleverly."

"Aye; you'll find out that the seventh disk is illusory, or the whole room is an entry to a maze spell, or the pit is primed to throw ice spells instead of fire, or else the entire shelf on the far side is a disguised golem, and that any attempt to teleport will immediately result in being hit by a disintegrate spell..."

The magus laughed and surveyed the area behind them. "I don't surmise that all these layers of intricacy made it particularly easy for anyone of legitimate authorization to _use_ this entrance to the compound," he noted. "Certainly it served as a deterrent to interlopers, but I cannot help but think hundreds of meters of stone and a magical tunnel or portal- presumably one that remained closed at most times- would have been a significantly more practical and cost-efficient means to an end."

"Pfft! Sense? Come now, Gorion, when do scary underground dungeons ever make _sense_. It's not like they were ever actually '_used'_ by anyone, right?" She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly.

The archmagus grinned at her knowingly. "I am very nearly feeling nostalgic at the moment."

His halfling cackled as she accompanied him away from the disk pit. "I think it's relevant to remember that we aren't dealing with a _Cyrite_ trapper. Crazy as this entry might look, it had to have a concrete purpose and a sensible route through it."

Gorion grunted, and went to survey several other passages, doors, and long-extinguished lighting fixtures. Mundane resins had preserved a great deal of the woodcraft in the dungeon, but centuries of dripping lime had rusted hinges shut and fused several apertures shut with stalactites and columns. "As we observed earlier, this place was not intended to survive in perpetuity without attendants. A mage was involved in its construction- and dwarves, as well?- but then neither group fully automated it's maintenance."

"Which means someone did this for defense, not just to proof against grave robbers. So the chambers beyond were lived in regularly once," Tallix followed, "and _big_. Maybe the mausoleum were carved out of an old dwarven clanhold? Or maybe it just has a really big ole temple preludin it."

"These halls could have handed a full-blown siege from the Underdark either way," Gorion mused as he studied a heavily barricaded door (to nowhere) that was covered in countless traps. "They could also net individually stealthy interlopers. I _must_ assume, based on this information, that the correct route inward will be one of the _least _direct pathways. Defenders, be they clerical or dwarven, would have benefited from the greatest possible quantity of trapped ground with which to make their fighting retreat.

"Well, let's see. I'd reckon our best path is that one back yonder, then. Particularly as ye mentioned 'siege from the Underdark,' and that's the only route heading down instead of up or out." She reached up to touch his arm as he returned to her. "Stay close at hand, eh? Nae wondering off ta moongaze at anythin."

"Agreed."

...

* * *

"Lad, what exactly do ye have ta say in yer defense?" Tallix asked suspiciously, craning over him.

Gorion peered up at her from where he'd successfully caught hold of the trapdoor's aperture and was dangling over a spike-lined pit. He considered the query which had been put to him. "Well," he decided after a moment's pause. "I _am_ a wizard." He glanced up at her a little bashfully. "And there was a riddle."

"And that talk I gave ye, the one about moongazin?"

Gorion cleared his throat. "So it looks like our trapper only thinks three steps into the future, as opposed to four or more. The edge of this trap door would have been greased, otherwise."

They heard a growl from the depths of the pit, and Tallix raised a brow. "What was that?"

Gorion looked downward and tilted his head to the side. "A bear," he determined after thoughtful inspection. "At the bottom of this dripping, spike-lined pit? Yes, a bear. The reanimated husk of what appears to be a very large dire bear, to be specific."

"A bear? I see," Tallix did, though her brow wrinkled. "Odd."

"Oh?" Gorion was still looking downward and sounded as if he might correct himself. "My mistake. It cannot be a dire bear; it appears to have an acidic breath weapon."

"Oh, well then!" Tallix exclaimed, tossing her arms in relief. "_That_ clarifies things! Phew!" She affected to wipe her brow. "I mean, I was worried for a moment. I was like: 'An undead dire bear? Pure nonsense. In what world would that make any sense?!' "

"Indeed, I'm as relieved as you are," the mage agreed in a solemn voice that underscored the nonsense of this conversation. "It doesn't appear to be able to reach me with the aforementioned acid. Which I suppose is a small blessing."

"Mmph." She eyed him. "Course, ye still wandered off after summat shiny."

"Hmm? I don't recall. Did I?" The aasimar looked up at her with a sunny innocence. She might have just left him dangling there for a few more minutes until he admitted his error, but it looked like his grasp was slipping so she wagered that she ought to help him up.

Tallix gave a belabored sigh and planted her feet on each side of a corner of the trap. She grabbed hold of his arms just past the elbow, and then hauled him carefully upwards. Gorion tried to steady her hold and refrain from making contact with the poisoned spikes, and she worked his grip carefully down under his shoulders. Tallix might have been much stronger than she looked, but she was still short.

...

* * *

"I have been perfecting my riddles for thousands of years," the mummified sphynx informed them from where she lounged comfortably above their heads. Her voice was an arid croak. Dust, thick with mummy rot, bloomed from her mouth. "Thou might flee my presence now, but should thou choose to answer incorrectly, I shall immediately and with great pleasure destroy thee."

Tallix glanced at Gorion and raised a brow. "Immediately, huh?"

The sphinx chuckled to herself. "Try my claws if it pleases thou; I am more than I appear. No! No do not," she changed her mind, "I shall give thee three chances, yes, three, for the intellectual... _stimulation_."

The voice which once might have been sultry was now paper-thin and incredibly _dead_. Although the sphinx had no doubt once been leonine and eagle like, her mummification had been carried out in bog peat. Her body was now hairless, black, and wrinkled, and she now had more in common with a bald panther and a starved crow. Her face alone was palatable, but that was because it had been covered entirely by in a gem-encrusted, golden death mask; perpetual beauty against her otherwise withered body.

She also appeared to be somewhat senile, or at least mad, as she was muttering to herself: "Winding, winding, countless words, breathing and twining into the effervescent infinity..."

"That sounds very fair," Gorion decided. "Three chances? Is it one riddle?"

"The questions thou must answer are two in number, but boundless in complexity," the sphinx purred excitedly, like rapidly scraped sandpaper, "two thou must answer for me, and I shall give unto thee two failures, each forgiven."

Gorion glanced to Tallix, who nodded and crossed her arms across her chest.

The sphinx cackled. "Magnificent, good. Sixty-four stanzas is the first riddle long. Listen well, thou doomed mortal fools, for I shall not repeat it twice:

_"I have many tongues but cannot taste  
"By me-_

"It's fire," Tallix answered.

The sphinx stopped short. A great silence filled the air between them. Gorion looked slowly down at his companion, who shrugged tactlessly. "What?" Tallix asked. "It is."

"Thou..." the sphinx murmured, her voice choked with hate, "thou will regret thinking me trivial. So be it! This is the second question thou must answer! Listen well, for I shall not repeat it twice:

_"A temple is built to Lathander, in which two great archways of glass, each two and a half inches thick, are built to catch the rays of the sun. Each rises as if given flight and falls as if pulled naturally to the earth. The greater of the arches is thirty paces tall and twenty wide. The lesser is twelve paces tall and four wide. In sum, how much glass was used to build the arches of the temple?"_

Gorion's brows furrowed, and he looked off at nothing. Tallix sneered and reached for her short sword. Then the halfling glanced up at her wizard, and noticed he was muttering under his breath, and the words didn't sound much like draconic. She raised a brow.

Gorion opened his mouth, paused, and cocked his head to the side. "I very nearly forgot to account for units," he accused himself, as if ashamed. "Which makes the glass depth significant. Hmm. Thirty six cubic paces of glass, then. Yes, that's how much it would take. Or, would you prefer the answer in inches?"

He furrowed his brow back up at the sphinx. The mummified being had stopped moving and said nothing further, but the door beneath her swung opened to reveal a circular room filled with sconces and weapons.

Gorion frowned, and then blushed guiltily and down at Tallix, who was gawking at him in bemusement. "I, ah, I think we offended her," the mage noted quietly. "Perhaps we should go."

...

* * *

They shuffled around a number of weapons (and sconces), and unveiled many sorts of interesting dangers and back-handed 'rewards.' In the end, the sum of their process opened up a narrow tunnel, which traveled upward at a mild grade.

"So, I know we already went through the trapper's tunnel, and I brushed off concerns about how tight a squeeze it was then," Tallix noted. "But these stones _move _to press flush against one another, and that sounds like an excellent way to make halfling jam."

"Well they do not appear to move _quickly_, which should give us time to react if it is a trap."

"Crocodile jaws don't open as quick as they close," Tallix muttered sagely. "I'd be happier if we stopped to figure out how it works first."

"Any access tunnel would probably open only on the other side, but perhaps there is a way to give us an advanced warning."

"Can ye clog up the empty space where gears might be with ice? It might not stop it, but we'd probably get a few warning cracks before the ice gave in."

"Yes. Yes, I can. I will also have a teleport at ready. If a problem forms, I shall get us both out safely."

...

* * *

The walls showed no interest in making halfling/wizard jelly that evening, which was actually somewhat anticlimactic after how deadly and misleading the rest of the dungeon had been. Still, this was an ironic sort of defense: uncertainty after so many tricks would most certainly stall an advancing army.

"How the _hells_ did ye figger the answer to the question back there?" Tallix asked him as they walked. He kept close behind her with a hand on her shoulder. "The sphinx one. With the glass?"

"Mm? Ah. By mentioning flight and gravity, the sphinx suggested the arches had a perfectly parabolic shape. Seeing that, I modeled each curve, and solved for the area under it."

She looked up at him, baffled. "The area? Like it were a floor plan, or a pattern for clothing?"

The aasimar glanced down at her, and a smile tugged at his mouth. "My goodness! Tallix, there actually exists something you _don't_ already know how to do?"

"Oh-ho! Laugh it up; We'll see who pulls you out of the next hole ye wander into..."

"Mental note to self: I am morally and perhaps mortally obligated to instruct Tallix Snapdragon on the basic principles of mathematical integration. Though, heavens forbid she asks me about compound interest. She is already terrifyingly well-armed..."

...

* * *

The passage was genuine, and terminated in enormous metal gates. Tallix headed forward to inspect them as Gorion studied them from afar; but the doors parted smoothly at little more than a touch of her hand.

Whether this was because they had been left unbarred, or whether it was because Tallix was a Bhaalite, was difficult for Gorion judge. She seemed surprised and looked back at him almost apologetically.

He found it more comforting to think that the gate had been left open, and smiled weakly before joining her. They entered a somewhat fortified atrium, where tile mosaics proved the structure had been built to stand the test of time, if not the trials of abandonment. The architecture looked consistent with that of a temple but, somewhat surprisingly, the murals did not depict anything overtly disturbing. They seemed to illustrate cycles of life, death, and rebirth.

The atrium led into a long 'courtyard,' which might once have illuminated brightly by magic to suggest the presence of a true sun. The presence of many so many clay pots, and the distinctive scent of earth, certainly suggested there had once been something growing there.

"You said this place was sacred to... Bhaal?" Gorion asked, his brow furrowed.

"Long time ago,"Tallix agreed. "Look."

A survey of the courtyard suggested that the complex was broken into four directions. The first, which they had come from, led into the Underdark. Directly opposite to the Underdark passage was a grand staircase that traveled upward for several hundred paces before abruptly terminating in a very deliberate-looking cave-in, which Gorion surmised had once led to the surface.

To their right, Gorion could see what appeared to be a series of open 'courts,' which had most likely been living and worship spaces for the temple clerics. The final passage, opposite to the temple, was what Tallix had been trying to draw his attention to. It was flanked by statues of the Slayer, each five times as tall as a man, and brandishing scythes.

The aasimar took in a sharp breath.

It was somewhat remarkable he _hadn't_ noticed them earlier, honestly.

...

* * *

It was late. They had no sun to tell time by, but the tiredness in their bones told Gorion and Tallix both that they needed to make time for rest. It was tempting to try and continue onward into the mausoleum, particularly as the temple itself looked devoid of threats. Certainly, the duo could find no sign of traps or undead.

"We know better than ta go down there just yet. T'ain't an emergency," the halfling told the mage, though it sounded like she was convincing her own self more than anything. "Ye said it best, we're rusty and we'll be needin our beauty sleep t'night."

Gorion nodded. "We should see what these priests did for warmth. I assume they must have something akin to magical furnaces or wood-burning chimneys for warmth, or at the very least for the preparation of food."

The mention of food helped Tallix win herself over. The duo began searching for a dining hall.

...

* * *

There was a circular pool of crystal clear water in the central building of the temple. As Tallix surveyed the architecture, Gorion drew close to the pool and leaned over to peer inside. Beneath the surface was a beautiful mosaic depicting two holy symbols which had been fused into one: a cowled skull haloed in blood; Myrkul and Bhaal. This was indeed a temple to the Lords of Death!

Gorion withdrew with a shudder. He took a moment to compose himself, and then looked around at the building's walls. They were blotted in many layers of peeling paint, some of which had been laid down over cracks in the stone.

The paint suggested the temple had been in use for a very long span of time, and had perhaps changed hands along the way. Did that explain its innocuous layout? _No, _Gorion thought. The mosaic in the pool was was of the same age and style as those images of life and rebirth, and clearly both were ancient.

The wizard lifted his gaze higher, spying words engraved high above the pillars. Age and lime had melted them slightly but they might have been legible. His brows furrowed. After a moment, he conjured up a small infrared mage light, and sent it up to throw heat gently over the cold stones

"Welcome," he read slowly and aloud, "those of all creeds and faiths, in knowing all souls must pass from the arms of the Grain Mother through the protection of Lords of Death, and into the hereafter. To these stones we entrust their physical memories: their remains."

"Well," Tallix grunted, impressed, "that's poetic."

"And remarkably toothless," Gorion murmured. "This temple must be as old as you claim; the dogma is almost unrecognizable. Once, Death was considered an integral if unpleasant part of western religion. Clerics of Bhaal and Myrkul were responsible for burial rites and graveyards. The faiths all look to them for this reason."

Tallix appeared surprised. Gorion glanced at her, and recalled the (difficult to remember) fact that Tallix's extensive world knowledge had been cobbled together from conversations rather than read in sequence. She had no formal education and her knowledge of ancient history, broad as it might have been, likely existed only as a direct function of her needs.

"The world changes over a thousand years," Gorion explained. "Even its gods change. Young ones and mainstays, both." He glanced down at the holy symbols again, "Though, of course, they need not change for the _better_..."

Gorion's skin crawled, abruptly. His voice failed him, and he stepped back from the pool. It felt as if an alien magnetism tried to draw his gaze back in the direction of the Slayer statues, but he knew the compulsion existed wholly within his own head. He was under no enchantment; he was afflicted by no magical ailment.

His wounds were wholly his own, and the world was dark.

"Hey," he heard Tallix call, and then her fingers threaded through his hair. For a moment, he could only register comfort. Then it occurred to him to wonder how she had reached his head.

Gorion did not remember covering his face, but he had done so. As he lifted his head, he realized he'd slunk into a corner of the room; and there he'd apparently sat down and curled up to hide from his memories.

The magus stiffened slightly, and then looked up Tallix in alarm. She was standing over him, and was pushing loose strands of his hair behind his ears. ;."I-I-!" he sputtered; because he'd _moved_ and _done something _without consciously instructing himself to do so!

"It's okay," Tallix reassured him. "Dinnae worry; I were right at hand, and nothin coulda happened ta ye. Ye were only turned inward fer about thirty seconds or so, regardless. "

"I was- _gods_," he breathed, raking at his hair and looking downward. "It _is_ a good plan to rest."

"Aye. Was a pretty damn long day," she agreed, pulling one of his hands into her own. "C'mon, pretty bird; let's find that fire we need."

...

* * *

They made camp in one of the rooms that had been used as living spaces, and which they found to have good ventilation and a wood-burning oven. The room still had a few logs and lumps of charcoal leftover for fuel.

Gorion's nerves felt tight and, although he had been through many similar ruins, he suddenly felt very strange to be standing in the personal quarters of a long dead Bhaalite priest. Tallix must have noticed his distress, but she had said nothing yet. What could she have done to help him, anyway? To feel fear the way he did in that moment was _understandable_, surely, but also fundamentally _senseless_. It was temporally incorrect and born of a useless anxiety instead of a proactive survival instinct. It was frustrating, and frightening just for being frightening.

He tried to focus on preparing food. That was a straightforward task, a mechanical task, a sensible task.

"Feathers," the halfling broached. Gorion did not look up. He tried to think of what she could possibly be saying, and whether it would be effective. His thoughts were racing so quickly that he almost missed what she said: "Ye realize there's no shame in havin scars, right?"

_Scars._ He grimaced at the floor and took in a slow breath, a breath that was shaky. Each new sign of his instability was alarming to him. "Scars," he repeated. "Chunks of myself, which are missing. Or which will never be _whole_ again."

"Oh, ye think that's summat to be ashamed of and bawl over," Tallix's voice was grinning. "Yet somehow it slips yer mind that yer talkin ta a woman with _no left eye_."

Gorion paused in what he was doing. He thought about this statement of hers for a long moment, and then he looked up at her with a hesitant frown. Long had he surmised that Tallix's eyepatch was magical; her depth perception was simply too acute for her to be genuinely visually impaired. Still, when his halfling had _so many_ untold stories, it did appear that he had taken the missing eye for granted.

"How... how did you lose it?" he wondered aloud.

Tallix smirked and leaned back into the wall as she lit up her pipe. "I were fourteen," she told him, "and Mask suckered me into playin a game o wits with him."

Gorion straightened. "Mask? The _god_, Mask?"

"The very same. Halflings have a sayin worldwide that ye know a child's blessed if ya hear the kid laughin at no one, cause it means Yondalla visited 'er in her cradle. Well, Moonsea hinfolk have a summat different sayin. We say ya know a kid's blessed on account of Mask getting distracted from his mischief by said cradle, and hopped over ta do sleight o hand fer the tyke."

She put out her match and puffed contently. Gorion tilted his head to the side.

"That's good leaf. Now where was I? Right, so Mask had bothered me for a game, but this time his stakes were serious. I was a bright kid and I knew better than ta fool around too unwisely with the wiles of shadows. So I told him I'd play, but the rules were this: if I didn't want to answer, then we'd call it a draw and no stakes would change hands.

"So he pouted and ignored me fer a bit, but then came back and accepted my terms. The stakes were my eye against an unspecified present- and that's a _fine_ deal when yer gamblin with Mask, because the known'll always be shabby, and the unknown'll always be worth squabblin over.

"So he writes down this riddle for me, and I _think_ I know the answer immediately- but I don't put it down just yet! I tell him I want to think about it. So I do. I think, and I think. I spend four days thinkin till he's all bored and botherin me left and right. Brilliance hits me! I realized where I went wrong in my original reasonin! I get a piece of charcoal- weren't rich enough ta have ink- and I write down the answer for him.

"He shows up and affects ta look all distraught as if he was beaten fer a moment, but then I can tell he's grinnin up a storm behind that faceplate of his. I get all defensive, cause I _know_ the answer were right. I say 'it is! I know it is!' But then words appear in smoke all around him:" she waved her hand to indicate a spiraling message, " 'The correct answer is Cormanthyr, Tallix. Not Corman_ther_.'"

Gorion's eyes had grown wider and wider as the story progressed, and now his lips parted slightly.

"Aye," Tallix sighed out smoke, with her gaze turned off at nothing. "I outwitted Mask, god o intrigue... and I spelled me answer wrong. He counted it as his win." She glanced up at him, shrugged, and continued:

"So, as ye can imagine, he snatched the eye clear outta me head. And it were the most blindingly painful thing I'd ever conceived of at the time. I were bedridden fer days with shock. As ye can imagine, I was right sour about Mask, too. Learned a valuable lesson that day, I did: That sometimes ye can't make up fer being sloppy with bein clever. Best always pay attention ta both!"

She had Gorion's full attention, it seemed, for he was staring at her in curiosity and wonder. "Your life has always been somewhat odd, then," he concluded.

"Lad, yer a quarter angel. And ye think it's odd the powers-that-be get bored and meddle about with little folk?"

Gorion leaned back as he considered this. "Was that the last time you saw the masked god?"

"Tch, no, course not," Tallix laughed. "Though I were right mad at him fer awhile, and nearly lost me opportunity ta get him back fer that. No, I finally did beat the flighty wanker, and at his own game too! How'd ye think I earned me eyepatch?" She decided she'd put her pipe out just as soon as dinner was ready, if only because the underground air quality wasn't ideal. "I'll save that story for another evenin, though. Can't dish out all me mystery in one sittin!"

The aasimar blinked and then shook his head. "I sincerely doubt you could ever be anything other than an anathema to me, Tallix Snapdragon."

She smiled wryly. "Ye gonna stick ta flatterin me, or will I get a dinner out of ye yet?"

...

* * *

Tallix stirred to consciousness and blinked rapidly. She still wasn't used to having anyone so close to her, such that she could feel their breath on her skin or clothing. It had goosebumps raised along the back of her neck, that was for sure.

"T?" he whispered again. His voice was tiny, as if anything more than a single letter was temporarily beyond him. That was how she knew he must have been sleeping poorly.

"Aye?" she cleared her throat. "Ye okay?"

He was quiet for a moment. "Can I embrace you?" he requested, his voice still very small.

She found this absurd and glanced across her side. She couldn't see much of him behind her. "Ye dinnae have ta _ask_," she remarked, confused.

He didn't immediately touch her. When he spoke, a lot of sentences came out in a rush, all at once: "While it is of course clear that we have remained close friends, and while I am unbelievably grateful for your presence, your wisdom, and your cosseting, you have been indicating you wish to maintaining a degree of separation between ourselves; an investment in keeping me at arm's length; if not emotionally then at least in terms of physical intimacy. I remain aware that a great stretch of time has elapsed since our last meeting, and that we only knew each other _well_ for a few years before that, and I am concerned I have discomforted you or overstepped the boundaries of our relationship. I would like to respect those boundaries- whatever they are- in the future, as our friendship is extremely important to me, and so I was uncertain what shows of affection might be appropriate."

Tallix twisted about to have a look at him. His eyelids were reddened with tears, and he was clutching his arms to himself as if uncertain what to do with them. The hin woman was quiet for a moment, her brows furrowing together as if startled or confused by the state of things. "Lad," she protested after a moment, "I weren't meaning... I were just tryin ta..." her voice trailed off, because she had no idea what to say to explain.

Tallix had never been particularly good at convincing anyone of anything, and it showed in how none of her siblings, nieces, or nephews had ever gotten their asses out of Moonsea. She thought of pointing out to him that he was being ridiculous, but somehow the look of how _miserable _he was suggested she ought not to prod him any harder. 'Can I hug you?' he'd asked. _Fourteen years I haven't seen ye, ya silver bird. Fourteen years, and it's like it's been nae more than a week betwixt now and then._

"Lad, ye could squeeze me till I'm blue in the face; ain't like I'd gonna complain," she sighed, a little perplexed.

He didn't immediately move.

Tallix frowned and then rolled fully into and scooted flush up against him. "_Hug_ me," she demanded of the magus, and no sooner had the words left her mouth then he stuffed both arms frantically around her and hauled her tightly into his chest. She sighed, gratefully this time. " 'at's a good lad," she murmured approvingly,slipping her fingers up to pat his shoulder. "Mm. Dinnae worry so much."

He shuddered out a laugh.

The night went by more easily for both of them, after that.

...

* * *

The mausoleum, to Gorion's surprise, had been sanctified. He could feel hallowed energy buried in its walls from the moment he first entered between the statues of the Slayer. This meant, of course, that there were no undead loitering about the mausoleum halls. Indeed, it seemed that the crypt itself was undefended, and relied on the complex's exterior hallways to keep tomb raiders away.

Associating holy energy with a place sacred to Bhaal or Myrkul was a new and wholly unpleasant experience for Gorion. On reflection, however, it made a perverse amount of sense that both gods could take their jobs seriously, particularly as this tomb had been in their caretaking.

The crypt was extensive, he found. So extensive, in fact, that it ought to have been better titled a necropolis. There were road signs delineating its major and minor corridors. It was a mile in length, at least, and twelve stories deep, with each story capable of carrying four rungs of sarcophagi or wooden caskets on either side. The graves seemed to be loosely sorted by deity, and Gorion was able to spot remains belonging to believers in almost every faith he had ever heard of. Some of the names were old family names, names which had lived on and which Gorion still recognized.

The detail work within the necropolis was well-preserved and incredibly nuanced. In the areas laid out for more well-to-do social classes, the sconces had been bent from brass wire twisted into elegant baskets by silversmiths. The archways and decorative moulding were engraved with holy scriptures and words of respite, and typically relevant to the faith of those who were entombed. Each alcove was marked with the mosaic of an animal, plant, or symbol so that it could be easily referenced. The burial devices here were largely caskets: wooden and well preserved with resin, polish, and in some cases enchantments, often with delicate gold leaf work and other intricate paintings still visible upon their surfaces. All of the burial spaces had been allotted a plaque which detailed their occupant's name and year.

Here, also, the alcoves were spacious enough to fit additional objects. Many of them had small individual shrines, where no doubt candles had been lit or small offerings had been made to treasure past spirits. Some sarcophagi were overlaid with a suit of armor or a sword, an inspection of which had Tallix reporting that each and every casket was likely trapped against tampering. A few of the caskets had belonged to bards, clergymen, or wizards, and these caskets were sometimes flanked by bookcases. The books themselves were unsullied and incredibly well preserved in appearance, so Gorion naturally picked one up to examine it.

Tallix gave him a dirty look.

But it seemed there was no enchantment upon any of the scripts more nefarious than a spell which would _Blink_ them back to their proper shelving locations if they were taken out of their specified alcoves.

"Do you have a clear idea of what we are looking for?" the aasimar asked as he shelved an interesting dissertation on the applications of copper and gold spell components on electrical spells.

"Nae exactly," the assassin murmured, which was as he had expected. He knew Tallix had brought them to the mausoleum more out of a hunch than anything else, but then Tallix tended to composite incredibly accurate hunches. "I think we're lookin fer a sign somethin might o been disturbed recently."

Gorion blinked. "By what? We've seen no indication anyone but us has made it into these interior halls."

"Maybe. We saw there hadn't been any interlopers, that's fer sure. But someone who knew the temple better than we did might o been able to bypass the defenses. I'm not sure lad; there might be nothin ta find at all. Just keep yer eyes peeled."

If nothing else, the necropolis was clearly of great aesthetic and historical value. In another time, he might have reached out to friends among the Heralds and invited them to have a look at the place, for surely more than a few family trees had important leaves down there, with all knowledge of their burial locations lost to the ages.

The duo paused at the barred gateway to a self-contained crypt, whose surname alone (_Alagondar**)**_ might have made a man like Volothamp Geddarm giddy- and necessitated an entirely understandable investigation of said crypt, of course, which no one of the adventuring profession could honestly say they would have faulted him for. Forgotten tombs were a bit like wine in that way.

"Well, if we ever need any cash, we know where to find an entire underground city worth of pawnable loot," a halfling remarked, and Gorion nearly broke out laughing because she had been thinking essentially the same thing. "Ah! I get a smile. And here I was expectin a lecture about disturbin the dead."

"Well," Gorion mused, "After a certain amount of time has elapsed, I'd wager the previous inhabitants of these bodies are quite busy with their afterlives and entirely disinterested in what becomes of their bones. Their legacy is all that might endure now, and that holds best in the written word. But given we've no present need for gear, let us leave them undisturbed a little longer."

"We should descend a few floors," Tallix suggested. "See if anything sticks out."

...

* * *

The graves were stratified noticeably by social class; the mausoleum was by no means restricted to the wealthy. As they descended, the duo found that middle class persons were buried in tightly clustered sarcophagi, often grouped together as families. Some of the alcoves were clearly older than others, but all had weathered well through the ages. Each box was engraved with a name.

They headed down a few more flights of stairs, and came to the lower class levels. Here, a number of empty sarcophagi stood open like gaping mouths. Beyond them, the halls were stacked floor to ceiling with narrow, stone drawers.

"What are...?" Gorion trailed off.

"Graves, just the same. More efficient with space, is all," Tallix had apparently seen this before, if only in passing. "Somethin about the stone'll leech off all soft flesh and so forth naturally o'er a span o months. Ye can put a body in a sarcophagus and prep it nicely, seal it, wait, and then crack it open a few months later ta find naught but bones. Those are easier ta store in neat little bundles."

Gorion had never worried much about what happened to a person's remains after death, but now the information did sound quite morbidly curious. As a wizard, he decided to go take a peek at the drawers. They did not appear to be locked, though they had also not been intended to open with any frequency, and some of them had been melted shut in the corner owed to an unexpected trickle of lime. He slid an undamaged one open, and found that it was perfectly sized to fit the depth of a skull and the length of a femur. The other bones had all fit neatly into what extra space these dimensions provided.

Ironically, the aasimar felt considerably guiltier for disturbing the remains of such an unimportant person than he had ever felt guilty for disturbing greater ones. Perhaps it was because this skeleton had no affects, nothing aside from a simple wooden ring set with a small globe of amethyst. He slid the drawer shut with a wordless apology, and then glanced along the row of drawers. All of them, to the very last, were clearly labeled.

Surely this meant there somewhere existed a ledger which documented all of these lives? An account of all whom had been buried there? Most likely a priest of the Archivist had been employed there, helping to ensure nothing went undocumented.

_Strange_, the aasimar thought as he leaned back to look up at the towering drawers. _Who takes care of such matters as these now, with gods of death unwelcomed in most lands?_ In the modern era, the only worship of Bhaal in the Western Heartlands occurred through violent cults. _I suppose each place makes due with its own resources. Though probably not quite so well as this. _This mausoleum had stood undisturbed for unknown centuries in its masters' absence, carefully protected against grave robbers, the elements, and even the forces of necromancy.

"I have a philosophical question," Gorion asked as he returned to Tallix.

The halfling glanced up at him, hearing what amounted to a grimace in his voice. "I'm all ears?"

"Do we believe death is evil because it _is_, or is death evil because we believe it such?" the aasimar questioned, not really expecting an answer. But Tallix he found, as always, could provide concrete answers for what anyone else would have considered a paradoxical thought exercise:

"Well death _it_self ain't evil, since ye need ta kill plants and pigs both ta eat yer kip each day. But Bhaal weren't ever the innocent sort, not even as a mortal man. Ye can't pin his breed of imagination on mortals, or on anyone but _him_, no matter how beliefs change." After a moment, she glanced up at him almost suspiciously. "Lad, are ye honestly- somewhere in that enormous fool brain of yours- tryin ta figure out if ye are under some ethical obligation ta rethink whether or not ye ought ta hate- with every fiber in yer body- an entity who manipulated, abused, lied to, and raped ye? Who tainted yer babies and forced ye ta kill em with yer own hands?"

A shudder passed through Gorion at that. He fell silent and paused in the stairwell as he thought about this.

Sensible. Tallix was always _sensible_, even when she was being extraordinarily confusing. She could reduce complex problems to a series of ordered steps. Tactful? No, she was not that at all. But sensible? Yes, always, even when he couldn't see the sense yet. He supposed her mental gravity was one of her most attractive traits. It had certainly taught him to weigh her sentences more meticulously than he otherwise might have.

'Rape' was a word he had never really associated with what he had gone through. Possibly, this was because he seldom spoke of it, and very few people knew the truth of what the Slayer had done to him. It was accurate, he supposed, wasn't it? If only for the Slayer, and not for what he had gone through with 'Lullorin.' Though 'Lullorin' had affected him much, much more deeply. Perhaps that was because the Slayer had only engaged in a physical violation, whereas the many-faced Kazgorath had performed an emotional one.

A year and longer, 'Lullorin' had slept with him. A year and longer, Kazagoroth had been tied up in trying to taint _him_. Tallix was right about one thing: Bhaal had put a great deal of effort into trying (and failing?) to secure Gorion as his pawn. Which left the aasimar to wonder: Why had the Death God needed a freshly zealous and loyal game piece so badly for?

...

* * *

I'm so much of a nerd that I actually re-figured out how to do parabolic integrals today, just to pose that sphinx's question. I couldn't help it; there is just something that intrigues me about math showing up in fantasy. And why not? I feel like magic must have a lot of pseudo science/math to it XD, and my well-educated lawful-aligned wizards plus Xzar will never cease to amuse me!

The rapid answer to the massive fire riddle was totally inspired by real DND experiences XD. The poor DM was not a happy camper XD.


	27. Clerics, Though, We Need Clerics

It would suck, having Bhaal in your head. He's a bit of a jerk.

...

* * *

_**Clerics, Though, We Need Clerics**_

...

* * *

"You're upset," Branwen announced the moment they were alone.

"I am upset," Xan spoke, cyan eyes cutting apart his surroundings, if perhaps a little unintentionally. "Though I'll make due." Still, his posture was very stiff. Branwen thought he looked almost regal when angry. Maybe convictions made him haughtier, or arrogant, or even simply confident?

"Imoen seems fine," she reminded him as she sat down and pulled her boots off.

"Yes but with _him_?" the elf sighed. "In the abstract, I can accept the possibility that Edwin may have redeeming attributes that he only showcases in private. But every time I think I can tolerate deferring to her judgement on the matter, he- he _does_ something!"

"Well_ s__he_ wasn't complaining," the Norheimer teased as she continued dressing down for bed. "Maybe he's just not _your_ type?"

Xan almost didn't register the implication. Then he nearly leaped out of his skin as he spun around to look at her. Well _that_ was a horrifying mental image!

Branwen chuckled warmly, and reached out to chafe her elf's arms as a reassurance she'd meant no harm. "Wee man, I'm pretty sure nigh everyone, yourself included, figured out those two had something going on when he turned up at her heel after all that mess and led with the explanation that he was 'on her side.'"

Xan's nose wrinkled. "Knowing a disaster looms is not the same as _welcoming_ it," he grumbled sourly.

"A disaster for who?" Branwen prodded.

Xan crossed his arms and looked away from her. "It is not fair of you to play devil's advocate with me, Nildoen'nin. I have no heart for arguing with you."

"Otch! A course it's not that I might have the right of things, eh?"

Xan looked at the ground, a little guiltily.

"Oh you'll worry your dear head off nae matter what I say, just the way you want to." She yawned and climbed into her pillows. "But if I were you, I'd leave the langar gobshite to her; it seems she's got the handle on him."

The elf glanced at her and raised a brow. "I worry about her," he murmured at last.

"So does he. Or can't you tell?" Branwen smiled. "Maybe you can bond on that."

...

* * *

_Bone claws were closed about abdomen, but they did not hurt her. They held her aloft, as gentle and secure as if they were carrying a favorite doll. Far beneath her feet was a soup of interwoven images, whose undulations and weavings were largely beyond her ken. Aegis looked down, bewildered. As the silence stretched, she shook her head. "I'm not an oracle, mage, or cleric. What am I supposed to see?"_

_'Time,' was the answer she received._

_She looked up, at where the lifeless skull hung dull and nearly imperceptible in the gloom. His voice was different somehow. Richer. And, unexpectedly, a tenor._

_'Threads,' he continued. 'Some past, some unpassed, as with the Thayvian.'_

_She frowned suspiciously, unnerved by him. Still, this was an abrupt change in tactic from the barrage of graphic imagery and demands for obedience which she had become accustomed to. Curious despite herself, she placed her hands against the bone index and craned over. Below her, images shifted and withdrew to form a ring of consistency. In the center, she saw herself and Gorion leaving Candlekeep._

_This was not something she wanted to see, though she doubted she had much choice. "Oh how sweet. My favorite memory," she growled resentfully._

_He chuckled. 'Watch. Memorize.'_

_And then he released her, and she splashed down into herself as she was several months ago. The experience was disorienting, but when she felt cognizant she realized she was within the image she'd seen. She was in her own body or, rather, at it; as she was little more than a ghostly passenger tied to the place it was standing. She had no control. The body asked Gorion where they were going._

_This id going to be unpleasant, Aegis registered gloomily. Her stomach churned as her body dragged her through the steps of the memory. What was the last thing Gorion had said to her before everything had gone wrong?_

_"Listen carefully. If we should ever become separated, it is imperative that you make your way to the Friendly Arm Inn. There, you will meet Khalid and Jaheira-"_

_That sounded familiar. She strained against her body, struggling desperately to wake from the nightmare. No such luck. The ambush arrived; Figures strode out of the gloom. She paused, noticing something she did not remember: she noticed Gorion's lips and fingers were already moving._

_"Hand over your ward and no-one will be hurt. If you resist it shall be a waste of your life."_

_Aegis' concentration flicked straight to the Horned Knight, because these were very words she heard first whenever she closed her eyes. They ranked on the top of her most hated statements list, effortlessly beating her sire's ominous 'you will learn.' _

_If Aegis had possessed any lingering doubts that her dreams were wholly unnatural, then those doubts dissolved at the realization that she was seeing her father's murderer clearer than she herself remembered him. She could count the horns on his helmet and the spikes on his armor. His belt was, she now saw, engraved with the holy symbol of Bhaal._

_Imoen had sworn he'd been a giant of a man, and perhaps he was, but now Aegis stood almost eye-to-eye with him and felt contempt instead of trepidation. His face, or what she could see of it through his menacing visor, was olive-skinned. His eyes were blank, glowing pools of light, and there were striking dark tattoos above and below each of his eyes._

_'You. You killed him. I am going to kill you,' she seethed, studying his face as rage bled through her veins. Then Aegis tensed and looked to her father, realizing that this might be the only opportunity she had to see his likeness again in all her life. A part of her had almost forgotten that Gorion was smaller than her. He was tall, but no taller than Xzar or Edwin, and somewhere between the two in weight. She could see over the top of his head._

_'Papa...'_

_"I'm sorry that you feel that way-" The enemy wizardess started casting. Aegis heard Gorion snap a terse syllable in draconic, and she saw violet magic leave his fingers. Violet. Violet was Xan's color, yes?_

_"Run, child!"_

_Gorion had cast a charm on her; Imoen hadn't been mistaken. *That* was why Aegis had left his side; *That* was why she'd abandoned him to die. He'd taken the decision out of her hands to make sure she survived. As her body bolted from his side, Aegis turned to watch the fight, as the wizardess threw a fire arrow after her and the Horned Knight and the two ogres charged their way across the field._

_Aegis perceived how masterfully her father threw the enemy wizardess to her knees. The gores were left as little more than chunks of gore. Ogres! Two of them! Aegis recalled her own first experience with fighting an ogre: it had leveled half her party and triggered her berserker rages. But here, the Horned Knight's entire entourage had been killed or incapacitated in little more than the time it took him to cross the steps between them._

_Gorion dodged the first lunge of the Armored Knight's blade, throwing up magical protections against himself. He slipped backwards, gracefully, dancing around the swings of a blade which could have easily cleaved his torso from his hips. Draconic brought light to his fingers. Seeing him so spry astonished Aegis. Her father really had been *someone* once. How was she going to avenge him? She couldn't have taken on a wizardess and two ogres on her own, much less fought this Horned Monster!_

_Her body disappeared into the forest, and for a moment she lost sight of the duel. Then, it seemed, her former self must have fought off the charm spell, because her body doubled back through the foliage to watch. She cringed painfully._

_The skull's voice oozed down to her: 'Remember what was. Remember what was taken from you.'_

_She swallowed as Gorion ran of dry of spells. He'd drawn his dagger, though Aegis wasn't sure what he'd ever expected to accomplish with it. Maybe, by that point, he'd only been buying her time to run? No! She realized now: Gorion had been blocking with the dagger, but had been lunging with his open hand. It hadn't registered to her at the time, because Aegis had little understanding of magic, but she knew now from working with Xzar that her father must have had a touch spell prepared._

_There was nothing for her to do but watch the murderer's footwork and body language as he swung that beautiful flamberge about in frustrated arcs. Frustrated? No: It was a ploy. As Gorion dove in close, the Horned Knight released his greatsword with one mailed hand and grabbed her father's arm at the elbow, jerking him closer. With one, effortless thrust, he pushed the tip of the flamberge through her father's stomach and out through his shoulder blade._

_The look on their faces put her to shaking. Gorion's wide-eyed confusion; the Murderer's smug satisfaction. Aegis heard her body scream in denial, and the Horned Knight looked in her direction as her former self lost the will to resist the Charm spell and her body spun about to flee. The Murderer threw Gorion back to free his sword._

_But Gorion must have been conscious for just an instant longer, and his unfaltering determination carried him through one final action of love. Even as he fell, the old wizard's fingers raked the Monster's chestplate, and an explosion of icy vapor burst out from the contact. The cloud forced itself up through the warrior's visor in smoky daggers, and filled his lungs; and the Murderer contorted in pain and confusion, doubling over to choke and cough._

_Former-her ran and ran and ran. _

_Bone fingers tightened around her, pulling her temporarily out of the images. She shuddered, gasping for breath she did not need, but the hand hold her aloft only seconds before plunging her back down again._

_'Consider what might have been.'_

_Disoriented, she realized she was on the Lion's Way. Gorion was with her, and thought he was disheveled he was herding her and Imoen along. 'There is no telling whether he has given up the hunt,' the mage told them. 'We must reach the Friendly Arm post haste.'_

_"Why was he after *me*?!" she heard herself protest, in awe of the magical display she'd witnessed. "Why didn't you let me help you?!"_

_"You are young, and perhaps I have kept you too naive concerning the dangers in this world," the wizard sighed. "It is a matter of blood, which we should not discuss out in the open. I will tell you at the Arm, I swear to you. I owe my friends the full story as well."_

_"But-"_

_This Aegis had been more than a day in advance of her original position on the Lion's three of them passed by two strangers on the road who were resting and sharing lunch._

_Gorion glanced at them with (what Aegis knew to be well-founded) suspicion. "Oh *pardon* me," the taller of the two figures broached. "We were on our way to Beregost and appear to have lost our sense of direction... May I ask your, ehe, heading?"_

_It had been awhile since Aegis had heard Xzar's sanity as it's most dissociative, muddling about in different octaves and purring like a cat's. His voice certainly wasn't mistakable for anyone else's. _

_"We are given to suspicion and have no time for chatter," her father responded warily. _

_Alternate-Xzar looked offended (Alternate-Montaron, or what they could see of him beneath his hood, looked more irritated with Xzar than anything), and indeed the matter might have gone no further had Aegis not made eye contact with the necromancer. He paused mid (effeminate), "Oh! Oh how very, very rude of-!" and then twisted to stare wondrously at her with his green eyes bright._

_It hadn't been Aegis' retrospective imagination then: she and Xzar had both 'recognized' and been drawn to one another immediately. A look of excitement flashed over the necromancers man's face which Aegis wouldn't have recognized on first meeting. Now she scrutinized him, and realized Xzar and Montaron had been 'lost' west of the caravan trail for a reason: Xzar had felt something and put himself in her path, or tried to, and lingered to see what might fall into his lap. _

_"What pretty hair..." the necromancer cooed faintly, raising a hand to his mouth. Then he stepped towards her and reached out. "May I... touch it?"_

_For all that hair-touching-requests were insane and peculiar, Aegis probably would have let him near without seeing the harm in it. She'd certainly let him chatter on about stealing her liver in another time, and this was no crazier than that. Only in retrospect did it seem odd that a girl whom random strangers had tried to murder now seemed comfortable around a random stranger. Perhaps she simply had a sixth sense for murderous intent, and Xzar hadn't even come close to triggering it?_

_Regardless, Gorion was not so forgiving. _

_Bone claws snatched her away from the vision, and a tenor voice asked: 'Would you have grown up at all, under his skirts?' Aegis stared downward at the images, at a wizard's duel which rapidly clouded and became impossible to follow. 'Would you have found the pieces you needed to survive? Do not forget what your brother stole. But know the magus was a necessary sacrifice, that *you* might ever-'_

...

* * *

Aegis cried out, startling awake to the feeling of Xzar shaking her. She looked blindly about the room, her arms quaking.

"Ae?" her green wizard whispered as he pet over her hair and shoulder. "Ae, _Moaratuk_. I'm _here, _what did you dream?"

"What?" she gasped hard, trying to get a sense for her location. Room, she was in a room. A bedroom? Her room at the inn. With Xzar.

"You were dreaming," he insisted, worried by her disorientation. "You heard him. Unusual reaction: worsE? What was he saying to you?"

He?

Aegis looked up at her partner who was leaning over her. He stroked her hair fervently and cupped her opposite cheek.

"He's changed," Aegis blurted. "His voice isn't overbearing anymore. It's like honey. It felt like a booming echo and now it feels small and _smart_, and the visions he's showing me are like real thing. I-" She propped herself up and then covered her face and took in a hard, shuddering breath. "Am I making him stronger?"

Xzar sat himself up fully and wrapped both arms around her. "Tell me everything," her necromancer whispered firmly, his blunt nails scratching through her hair and over her scalp. "Ae?"

She shuddered into him, tears welling up in her eyes because she had 'seen' her father for the first time since early summer.

"Oh," the wizard murmured feebly upon seeing her distress. "Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh... I'm here; your Fool is here, sweet Chamomile Death; your Fool will help you...! Shh, shh..." He brushed over her cheek as she struggled through a few restrained sobs. "It will be okay. It will, it will, it will...! You aren't alone with father dearest; so many thoughts to benefit from and voices to hear- you don't face his alone!"

...

* * *

The first thing Imoen was conscious of, that fine morning, was weight. Then heat; and the smell of musk and, splendidly, spice.

As she blinked groggily into the morning hours, she found herself smooshed into a Noble Suite's mattress. Her wizard had not moved from where he'd fallen asleep; he remained flush over top of her, his cheek on her collar and his forearms draped around her head. He was heavy, her left leg was definitely asleep, and, wow, she felt _on top of the world!_

She brushed her palms over his shoulder blades, kissed the top of his head, and traced up the black tattoo that spiraled up from his spine and over his scalp. Still needed hair. A blissful sigh oozed out of her nonetheless, and she hugged him to her chest

_Mine. Mine mine mine mine mine. All mine, pricklies included._

Edwin shifted slightly, and his breath rate picked up as he woke. His fingers twitched in her hair, and she could feel his eyelashes flutter open against her sternum. _Wee! Love. Love love. _

{Good morning handsomest dragon,} she yawned happily, lifting a hand to her mouth for a brief moment.

Her Thayvian slowly propped himself up out of her breasts, and squinted dazedly past morning light as he tried to get a handle on his surroundings. He took stock of the window and the four poster bed, and then looked sleepily down at her as if lacking the brainpower to decide what to make of her location.

Imoen grinned contentedly up at him, rubbing sleep from her face. {Admit it,} she giggled as she stretched herself out a little. {I were a hundred percent right about the feather bed.}

Narrow brown eyes blinked slowly at her. Sune! Those eyes, the shape of them. Those eyes and those cheekbones and that skin color; those were the beautifully exotic things about him. Ha! 'Beautiful.' She sounded like a goose. Maybe everyone was twitterpated about the people they loved. Viccy sure didn't think Edwin was handsome, and Imoen would probably never understand what Aegis saw in Xzar, nope!

{Kwefai,} her unlikely Red Wizard acknowledged her quietly. Talons brushed gently over her ear and through her hair.

Imoen's eyes closed to slits, and for a short while she did nothing but enjoy his attention. Then she touched his chest and eased her fingers over his shoulders. Her palms cupped his face, her thumbs sliding from cheekbones to brow. She grinned.

{You look like your poor ingenious brains done feel like marmalade,} she whispered almost conspiratorially, rubbing her hands over his temples, scalp, and ears.

Her magus grunted, and offered no insulted reply. His eyes were half-closed, and he looked very comfortable. The pad of his thumb passed tenderly over her cheek and under her eye, and she turned her face slightly into the curve of his hand. He obliged her, and pushed hair back from her brow.

This was so weird and new and _badly needed_; it downright made a pink thief _wobbly_, it did. Just how long had they been doing this: this needing each other? There was something reassuring in it, in just being allowed to _touch_ him. He'd let her in someplace unguarded, it looked like; where they could be intimately familiar, or maybe even _sweet_.

Her contentment bloomed into mischief then, owed to entirely morning-related 'reasons.' She bit her lower lip and then eased her hands down and gave a playful tug on one side of his facial hair. He eyed her tolerantly. {I have a question. For the record.} She tightened her thighs, and this time he jumped a little. {How do you feel about morning sex?}

Clawed fingers tightened in the sheets around her, although Edwin's sleepy expression did not much alter. A moment passed in silence. Then he looked groggily about the room, fumbling for the edge of the blankets so that he could cast them aside. {Let me relieve myself first.}

The wizard struggled off of the bed, and the thief rolled over and reached out to run her fingers down his tailbone as he went. He stumbled slightly and glanced back at her with a bewildered and perhaps somewhat unsettled expression, and then made his way over to the chamber pot.

_Tehe! _The thief snuggled up in their blankets and watched him with all the roguishness that was rightly hers. When he reached his destination, he must have realized she hadn't an ounce of modesty to her name; and his mounting self-consciousness as he handled business was adorable. On his return he settled hesitantly back onto the bed beside her, and looked as if he found her continued presence to be awkward.

Imoen grinned. {Ya don't _have_ to sleep with me,} she offered him, scooting back as if to give him space. {I'll done mind my own business over here, yup. And I'll not cause a lick of trouble, nope, no sir!}

Her wizard growled, clambering over top her and shoving her shoulders back into the pillow before she could escape. {Don't be cute.}

She splayed her fingers over the black ribbons of his throat and collarbone. {But I think you might secretly _like_ cute,} she teased. He looked appalled by the accusation. {Oh ho, you give me that face, but _I_ know ya nearly slept with Alora!} He cringed, and fixed her with a glare of dire and prohibitory reproach. {Hee! You can try to deny it, but I was there! Well, by the way, it is my turn on top.}

Her wizard snorted. {Oh is it now?}

{Yes,} she aped a haughty Thayvian sniff. {You were last time, and Turns are fair.}

Brown eyes narrowed at her. {Kwefai, I am _not_ straddling you as some_ barbaric_ show of dominance, but rather because-!} he hesitated. She raised her brows, waiting. He licked his lips and, quietly, requested of her: {Let me _earn_ it...}

It? The sex. The intimacy. _Something unearned has no value. _She'd once pulled him out from _under_ a whore. This was important to him, then, because it meant things were different?

Imoen thought for a moment, and then nodded slyly. {Well in that case,} she reached up and drew one of his hands from her shoulder, and brought it down to her breast. {I feel obliged to draw your attention to which sexual role doesn't commandeer a person's arms for balance.} Attention was successfully drawn; his fingers immediately set to investigating this highlighted anatomical region. _Yay__! _{And, em, ya know... I've heard tales of a legendary mage who can cast pleasant warming spells upon his hands... True story!}

...

* * *

"Oh," Gorion murmured. "This is more like what I had originally pictured when I heard 'Bhaalite Mausoleum.'"

Tallix gave a grunt of agreement.

Ahead of them, on the second lowest level of the catacombs, was an underground 'shrine' of sorts, complete with an altar on which to make offerings, and shelves which sported numerous memorial gifts. What made this shrine _special_, however, was that every element of its architecture had been inset with or build from bone. Even the floor itself was an endless collection of ribs and phalanges, held together and made structurally sound with the aid of mortar and a polished coating of clear wax.

The pillars and buttresses, altars and shelves, braziers and sconces; each and every object was made from bone. The majority of these bones were human. It was one of the eeriest places Gorion had ever been to. The amount of black, open sockets staring down at him was easily in the thousands; and this was only the first room!

"This wasn't closed off behind any doors," Gorion reasoned after a long pause of perplexed silence. "Presuming these catacombs once had visitors, there was nothing to keep anyone from reaching this level."

"Yer right," Tallix realized. "Ye think that means this were built _later_, or was skeletal architecture actually fashionable to normal people once upon a time?"

Gorion shook his head and stepped forward, gingerly making his way across the floor. He was glad to see the mortar and polish held; the sound of cracking, brittle ribs would probably have brought out an instinctive squeamishness he hadn't previously known he'd possessed. "There is a strange air to this place," he said, and he kept his voice in hushed tones despite the lack of any obvious dangers. "Almost like... reverence?"

The mage paused at the altar. He closed his eyes to prepare himself and then conjured forth a mage light and slowly blinked his eyes open again. The altar was white, and bare of stain. He looked up from it. As infravision gave way to color, he saw that the bone walls had been glazed with pigmented clays. They were colored, all of them, some with great intricacy and care. Together they formed an image he'd previously been blind to: a narrative painting. In mute wailing and anguish, it told the story of a plague which had swept across the breadth of Faerun, and of battles between gods and demons.

"It's a mass grave," Gorion realized as he directed his light up towards the skulls. Each one of them had been decorated, meticulously, like an object of art. Those on the lowest level clenched blackened tibia between their teeth, upon which had been written in gold leaf: 'Our names now are known only unto the gods; But there is not one of us who was ever truly lost or forgotten.'

"They handled the job of dealing with all the diseased bodies," Tallix realized, startled, and it did not seem like liked this revelation any more than he did. The shrine was not an atrocity, but a place of sadness, remembrance, and somber reflection. These were not feelings comfortable to a house of Bhaal, not for either of them.

"I don't think I like this mausoleum," Gorion decided. He realized that part of the uncanniness he felt in this room was owed to the face that it was on hollow ground. The place stank not of defilement, but of holy energy.

"Kinda puts things in perspective," Tallix remarked, wincing.

Gorion nodded and sought to return to her side. But with so many _eyeless __eyes_ staring down at him, he was honestly strangely reluctant to turn his back. A shudder ran down his spine, and he took a deep breath before whirling away and striding back to his halfling.

"Let's see this last floor," he suggested. "And if there is nothing immediately remarkable, we can decide what to do next."

...

* * *

When the scent of holy energy ended, it was so abrupt that it was as if a gulf might have opened up in the middle of an otherwise featureless plataeu. Gorion nearly stumbled, and reached out quickly to grasp Tallix's shoulder. He looked vaguely around himself for a moment, and then nodded.

"The sanctity of this place has been fouled."

"Well then. Sounds like a lead," was Tallix's response as she smoothed her fingers across her bracers and then slowly produced a short sword- a _different_ short sword- from apparently nowhere. "Step gingerly now."

They made their way down the staircase with great alertness, and paused when they reached a tall, narrow set of doors blocking their path. It was cold, silent and pitch black down there, and without unlit torches, candelabras, or even sconces from which light might have been expected to emanate at any point in the past. The doors might have been more aptly called a gateway, though they stood only four feet across and ten in height.

They had been barred with large, metal beams.

Barred from the outside.

And the threshold, doors, and beams all bore gleaming abjurations and clerical spells of protection. Above them and near the ceiling were written the words: 'To these sanctified halls we entrust all those who cannot and must not remain above.' Nothing could be heard from beyond the door. Rather, there was a strange aura of _negative_ sound, as if some void was consuming everything beyond. The Underdark was usually quiet, but this felt surreal.

Gorion and Tallix glanced at one another. "Ye ready ta commit to a bad idea?" the halfling asked him.

"Right behind you," the mage agreed, raising protections against negative energy and paralysis.

...

* * *

Edwin made it downstairs before Imoen that morning, though looking more disheveled than Aegis had ever seen him outside of a serious maiming. He seemed rather oblivious to external stimuli as he obtained breakfast and sat in his usual place. Now that he'd returned, the World's Least Tactful Wizard was honestly starting to grow on Aegis again. Despite her misgivings. Perhaps Imoen's happiness was contagious, or perhaps, as with Montaron, Aegis couldn't really muster the energy to be overprotective when she herself was sleeping with Xzar.

Well, she couldn't help but be slightly amused by the sight of Edwin with his clothing all crinkled and tousled, particularly as the man was usually immaculate in terms of personal hygiene (to the point where he could complain about dirt on his boots, as if somehow dirt was not precisely what boots were made for).

"Good morning, Edwin," she decided to greet him, leaning her cheek on her knuckles.

He looked up from his eggs and blinked slowly at her. Then he glanced around. No Xans. No Jaheiras. Not much of anyone, it seemed.

"You seem to be absent a necromancer."

"Aye. Xan's uncle is leaving this morning, and I think Xzar has convinced himself he's capable of offering emotional support," Aegis explained. "Is Imoen going to be up within the hour?"

Then he tilted his head to the side and observed: "You do not appear to be angry with me."

That brought a smirk twitching at her lips. Rare was the day Edwin noticed the precariousness of his own social situation. "Well, have you ever known me to stay angry over anything for longer than it took people to stop trying to kill one another?" A pause. Then she realized she didn't want to talk about Edwin about the irony of Deathchildren disliking death. "Maybe I just have a soft spot for wizards."

He stabbed up some eggs. "Because you were raised by one?"

_Oh? Since when do *you* start harmless conversations? _She regarded the wizard curiously, but decided to humor him. "Gorion and Imoen were my family. Though I suppose I was raised by a whole fortress's worth of wizards."

"Mn. As was I, and yet I've no particular affection for them as a group. Rivals, at best." He took another bite of eggs, chewed, and swallowed. "What about the bartender? Her father."

"Winthrop?" Aegis smiled sadly at the query. "He's family," she decided. "But more like an uncle. I think 'unconditional loyalty' is a little big to give out to many people, don't you? There are plenty of people I'd risk my life to save, but only a few I know I'd die for."

Edwin inclined his head. "I'd not give it to anyone. Yet _you_ survived. And your father did not. How is that?"

Aegis winced and leaned back in her chair. She said nothing for a moment. Edwin watched her dispassionately, and she reasoned the query hadn't been intentionally barbed. "Imoen witnessed most of the fight," the ranger answered him flatly. "She said it looked to her like my father had charmed me into running."

His brows raised. "He wasted a spell- and spellcasting time- to get you to flee? It sounds like he highly estimated whatever he was up against."

She grimaced, trying to signal much more loudly that this topic was unavailable for further discussion. "Yeah, well. A word on Minsc: Wizards with combat knives don't fair well against determined giants with greatswords."

Edwin tapped his nails against his coffee. "Your father was fully prepared for such an ambush, and yet expended his entire arsenal on that fight. Who or what accompanied this Horned Knight?"

The ranger frowned and looked at the Red Wizard with fresh eyes. "Two ogres and a mage," she described after a moment's pause. "I remember that my father took the mage out with his opening spell. Then the ogres exploded."

This seemed to give him food for thought.

Aegis decided to offer more detail: "He spent the rest of his arsenal on that Horned Knight, though I think he might have had a spell like Xzar's Chill Touch still active at the end. Something debilitating, with vapors that went into the lungs. But aside from that, there's not much I understood about what I saw... Magic from far away is just a light show to me."

He grunted. "A better recounting than the average peasant's," he allowed. "Anything else?"

"Just mundane things," Aegis shook her head. "Our enemy was a little bigger than me, and had a very distinctive voice: arrogant, well-spoken, and slightly foreign. His armor was so oddly stylized, I'd believe anyone who suggested it came from Kara'Tur. And while I'm sure his equipment had potent enchantments, he was also one hell of a seasoned fighter. Most people don't have footwork that good, and definitely can't wield a Greatsword in their off-hand." She was quiet a moment.

The Red Wizard was quiet, musing on this information. He took a swallow of coffee, and tapped the cup thoughtfully.

Aegis studied him, and then leaned forward again and rested her elbows on the table. "Does this mean you'll help us face him?"

Edwin's gaze flicked back up to her. "What makes you'll think any of us have a choice in that? Presumably, he is the meat behind whomsoever is instigating this Iron Crisis."

Aegis docked her head. "I think he _is_ the instigator."

"Hnh. I am more inclined to blame intelligence than muscle for a scheme this broad," Edwin countered. "Particularly as I believe this 'Iron Throne' has a number of wizards at it's helm."

"Does it? No, the Horned Man was like _me_." She suddenly knew without a doubt that this was true. Edwin's eyes narrowed thoughtfully at her. "I'm _sure_ of it. His eyes glowed gold; that's the color Xzar associates with you-know-who. I even think he was wearing the holy symbol. His size didn't make him stupid; The way he spoke was almost patrician."

"I... see."

Aegis pursed her lips momentarily in thought. "Going to jump ship to a more opportunistic deal?"

Edwin scowled as if insulted. "_He_ already has his solidified power structure, fool girl, and _his_ plan does not benefit any Red Wizards. Learn well: New opportunities arise from _foiling_ what has been set in motion, and are not found in leaping for miserly table scraps."

"Wouldn't Thay benefit from further troubles in the west and among the Black Network?"

"Pfeh! Red Wizards lay the groundwork for their own tactical explosions, which are already dangerous enough (and I suppose _I'd_ know...). They do not wait around for other peoples' explosions to go off, and _hope_ the aftermath proves conducive to their aims." He shook his head and went back to his eggs with a tolerant roll of his eyes. "As if there were not the issue of Imoen to consider. I doubt she considers you and your half-sibling to be interchangeable, much as I might fantasize otherwise. Pity that," he muttered sarcastically.

Aegis tilted her head to the side, and then smiled slightly. "Edwin, can I give you some advice?"

"Mm. I make no promise not to belittle you once it is aired," was his answer.

"You need to make peace with Xan."

His gaze darted suspiciously to her.

She lifted her hands placatingly. "I made no promises you'd like hearing my advice. But look how far accidentally winning over Jaheira got you."

_..._

* * *

A chorus of whooping shrieks streamed after them, accompanying the cacophony of clattering bones and gnashing teeth.

"Gettin' appreciative of how easy they surrounded us!" Tallix snapped, grabbing out a bag of marbles and casting them behind her. They multiplied into a cascade of tiny sphere as they hit the round, their numbers stretching from wall to wall, and the first skeleton warriors who reached them lacked the balance necessary to stay upright. They collapsed into piles of bones and rusted weapons, before struggling doggedly back to their feet.

"Yessss!" cackled out a delighted howl. "Flee, and flee, until your breath leaves thee! We do not tire! We eat all!"

Gorion sagged into the wall, taking the moment of time Tallix had bought them. He gripped hold of the bone splinter embedded in his shoulder, and pulled. "Nngh!" he huffed, unable to free it. "This is necromancy at it's finest. I think the damn thing spit out _barbs_ when it hit me."

Tallix skid to a halt beside him, and grabbed hold of the splinter for him. There was no time to determine if some kind of holy spell would reverse the vile shaping that had been done onto it. She tore the splinter free and winced when she saw it had been burrowing out hooks into the mage's body as it wormed in between his bones. Gorion spared it a horrified grimace, and then clutched at the wound.

"Oghma," he sputtered. "Something else is _in_ it-!"

"Fix it when ye ain't bleeding out!" She forced their best healing potion into his hand. The skeleton warriors were still staggering about helplessly, but a red-eyed ghast had bounded past them. Tallix turned to face it. The ghast leaped at her, its spine barbed, its teeth and nails all distended. She spat out an activation word, '_Light_' in Draconic, and then the sword she was holding lit up with white flame. She dove under the apex of its jumped and drew the sword along behind her. The ghast screamed, hitting the ground with a crackle and then spinning about to face her.

It convulsed and threw up black ichor, and then glanced at an indisposed Gorion. Tallix snarled, dancing forward to slash at it. Gods, the wizard didn't have a scrap of armor; one _brush_ and-

She leaned back from one slash, blocked the other, and then leaped forward when it attempted to grapple with her. Her short sword went through its chest and up out through its ribs beside its spine. Claws and teeth squeezed momentarily, reflexively, on her armor; then the ghast exploded in a shimmer of yellow fire and white dust.

A wave of fatigue hit her. Damn. How? Near as she could tell, she hadn't been bitten. Didn't ghoul fever necessitate a bite? But then she'd never seen exploding shrapnel skeletons either, or mummies who refused to stay down no matter how many times one hit them. Something was incredibly wrong with this place.

She felt Gorion's hand on her shoulder as the skeletons began charging their way up free of the marble bed. "Tallix. Tallix I see a trap; something set by the tomb builders. It might help us!"

The halfling winced up at him and staggered slightly. "We're in trouble," she noted. "But I'll nae leave ye."

"Come on," the mage tugged at her urgently, seeing that she was in no condition to take care of herself. "Come on!"

They ran. They let the skeletons chase them into a side alcove with no escape; a good position to defend from if only they'd been at full strength! She felt a click under her tabi as the two of them walked straight over a trap panel. There was a great _void _above them, and a _mass_, and a displacement of air. Gorion hauled her clear off the ground to get her forward that final step, and then a wet slap behind them told her _something_ had fallen into the chamber.

Tallix twisted dazedly about. Gorion let her slip to the ground again. Still he held her close; held her upright. Behind them was a solid wall of gelatinous ooze, at least twenty feet deep and filling the hall from side to side. It had fallen clear onto two of the skeletons (damn buggers had nearly caught them-!), and both were now immobile and dissolving rapidly away. Another skeleton had slid partway into the thing, and was trying ineffectually to crawl its way out.

Gorion straightened. He took in several deep breaths, and then a bemused expression wormed over his face. "Someone grew this thing in a vat of holy water," he sputtered incredulously. "I- I don't think it will even attack us."

The ooze remained stationary for a few seconds, and Gorion suspected it was reorienting itself and taking in the new smells associated with its change in location. Then it gave a full-body quivver and surged forward, its edges undulating along the corridor walls and making audible slurping and sliding noises. The top of the jelly sank down, and a thick portion of its mass bowed out, and ooze flopped forward over every skeleton foolish enough to stay within its reach. Three new super-skeletons were captured, and the jelly sucked itself upright into its normal cube-like dimensions. There it lingered, snacking contentedly upon its haul of evil undead munchies.

Tallix looked up at Gorion. She wavered for a moment before her head seemed to clear a little bit, and a grin split her face from ear to ear. "I take back all the things I said about him," she chortled. "I love this fucking trapper. He has _style_."

Gorion nodded and tugged at her shoulder. "Come, let's look at what's ahead before that lich finds a way through this obstacle. Cross your fingers that this trap was protecting some kind of holy equipment that would be useful in an emergency."

...

* * *

They found a door marked with the Holy Symbol of Bhaal at the end of the passageway, and it lacked for handle or lock. Gorion winced. Tallix stepped forward, and the door opened at her touch.

"Sorry, Ri," she murmured, though it wasn't entirely clear for _what_. For the past, one supposed. Beyond the door was a small shrine dedicated to the death gods. Gorion's skin crawled as he entered, but he could see shelves filled with scrolls and rods which he knew might be vital to their survival in such depths.

"Don't apologize," he sighed. "If we hadn't gotten in here, we might have died. A cleric; that's what any undead-fighting adventuring party requires. Always bring a cleric..."

Tallix glanced back at over at him. "Aren't ye a cleric, Ri? I thought I hear it said such."

Gorion fell still for a moment, gazing off at nothing, his fingers still laced between leaves of ancient parchment. "I..." he hesitated. "That was a confusing time. And I have never called out to Oghma for magic." He was still a moment more, and then shook his head to clear it and turned to look down at her. "Have you recovered from that ghast's assault?"

"I think so. How's me skin, eyes, and temperature. All good? I haven't turned into anything, have I?"

He felt her brow and then nodded. "Whatever afflicted you, it must have been hovering in a cloud about the thing. You're in good health for a woman your age if you shook it off that fast."

She grunted. "How's yer shoulder?"

"One more reason I hoped to find a shrine before that lich tracks down us," he answered. "I've the vague suspicion I've been seeded with a spell component, and it aches."

"I'll help ye look. Trying ta find summat for removing a curse?"

He nodded rapidly

The shrine had been stocked with gear for mending supernatural injuries and combating supernatural infestations. Still, knowing that everything in the room had been made by Bhaalite clerics made Gorion's skin crawl. The scrolls, in particular, gave him pause, and he took a moment to review them and ensure they were free of anything profane.

Tallix nudged him. "Yer shoulder's got black veins spiderwebbin out from it," she told him flatly. "I know what yer feelin, but ye've not got much choice."

Gorion grimaced. He glanced at the tear in his robes, and then took in a deep breath. "I need to make a divine focus," he determined. "And I won't do it in this alcove."

_..._

* * *

Tallix knew that clerics typically required a symbol of their god in order to channel energy. Still, she knew that these symbols needn't be graven images. Clerics of Helm, whose symbol was an all-seeing-eye upon a gauntlet, typically decorated their gauntlets with an eye so as to eschew the need for special talismans. Gorion's god was even easier: Oghma's symbol was a scroll, and Gorion arguably could have focused upon any of the ones in his hand.

But instead, he settled down outside the protective influence of the shrine, conjured up a bottle of ink, and set to inking a perfectly proportioned, well-shaded, and artfully designed symbol of Oghma upon the cover of his spellbook.

Tallix fussed, antsy as corruption grew steadily across Gorion's shoulder. She glanced down the hall. Some ghouls were trying to reach the two of them by climbing across the ceiling like spiders. Fortunately for wizard and thief, their new gelatinous friend had already plucked two straight from their moorings.

"Ri..." she urged anyway.

"Tallix, this is not so simple as saying a word and activating a magic item. It is, in fact, an extraordinarily difficult _thing_ for me. Please be respectful of the fact that a person's relationship with their god can be... confusing.

"Ain't nothin confusing about the god of bards and books," Tallix growled. "Your issue's naught but that the last time ye called on a prayer fer magic, Lullorin was still fuckin with yer senses."

"I assure you that you did not need to remind me of that traumatic experience. It was quite firmly on my mind from the start."

Tallix sighed, and hesitantly settled her fingers upon his shoulder. "Ye weren't _his_."

Gorion winced but continued to draw. He finished the application of black ink, set it, and then conjured up a blue ink bottle. Tallix nearly drew out a knife and stabbed him to death herself. Then she heaved a great sigh and sat down against him.

"Yer stressin' me out, lad," she complained. "This is ridiculous."

"I am meditating. Be patient."

"But it's just a-" she frowned.

He gave her a reproachful look and then continued his work.

A hoard of unintelligent skeletons was walking towards the cube now, trembling and shaking at every joint. They walked straight towards Tallix and Gorion, and so walked clear into the Gelatinous cubes. Their bodies trembled and contorted violently, and then burst into an assortment of splintered bones all thick and black with corruption. The cube did not seem to mind this, and ate them happily all the same. Pity that gelatinous cubes were acidic, it were; this one might have made a splendid panacea.

"Ri?" the halfling asked quietly.

"Yes, Tallix?" He must have been in immense pain, but he continued drawing. He was sketching words onto the symbol now: "_An idea has no weight, but it can move mountains."_

She looked unhappily up at him, and swallowed. "Are we some sort of couple?" she asked him, as if genuinely confused.

He paused and blinked down at her. Her: clad all in black, in a cloak reminiscent of an incorporeal monster, with knives and poisons and caltrops that came from nowhere, and a long and sordid history of countless deaths weighing bloody upon her hands. He tilted his head to the side. "You're deducing this _now_? From what, exactly? Is there something romantic about these circumstances?" He looked about, baffled, as if he honestly expected to see heart-wielding cherubs somewhere. Then he cocked his head back at her. "Are you really that worried?"

The old assassin grimaced up at him. "Worried!" she huffed. "I worry about ye like family. Worse, a'times! Lad, ye've been steeped in magic all yer life, so I'd wager ye take it fer granted. But if _ye_ go down, there's literally nothin I can do ta help ye. Savin people's nae what I'm kit for.

Gorion's brows furrowed as if he found this absurd. He gave an incredulous shake of his head, and then leaned over and clasped the back of her neck. Tallix stiffened (_attack, evade, throw-!). _Then she tilted her head up as the wizard's mouth fell over hers. She held still for a moment. Then she wiggled into a less neck-breaking position, threw an arm up around his back, and bunched her fingers into his hair.

The shoulder could wait just a second longer, especially after fourteen years.

_..._

* * *

[Author's Note]

Thank you, Gorion, for that Diablo 1 nostalgia-inducing "The sanctity of this place has been fouled."


	28. A Little Traumatized

[Author's Note]

Kaispan/Artastrophe painted Imoen and Edwin together on Deviant Art! GO FORTH AND VIEW IT!

* * *

_**A Little Traumatized**_

...

* * *

Aegis noted with amusement that it had taken five people's emotional support in order to help Xanisteirial Feliien see his uncle off that morning without any more guilt-mongering.

She admitted to some curiosity on how exactly things had gone; Xan's support group had, after all, consisted of a mute archerer, an unfortunately chronic stutterer, a well-intentioned but argumentative druid, a potential niece-in-law, and a necromancer. Surely there was a story there, or at least a punchline? In any event, the group's composite seemed to have projected enough anti-haranguing aura to ensure the mission proved successful. Xan looked fine.

"Aegy," Xzar called, skipping away from the rest of the group and coming up to her with a thoughtful expression. "All the other wizards have new clothes. I'm jealous."

Aegis blinked and then broke out laughing. "Is that an invitation to go shopping with you, frazzled Fool?"

"Yes. Yes we must do that at once. You _must_ come. I cannot go alone; I have utterly insufficient leaves in my head for understanding anything about sunlight or rain. Except that the former is good for killing vampires and the latter is good for killing bandit camps, of course."

That made perfect sense to Aegis. "Thicker robes it is, then."

"Yes! Oh? Hmm." He lifted a hand to his mouth and looked off at nothing. "Pardon, pardon: I want to try something different." His glanced thoughtfully back at her. "Trousers. Yes, may I have trousers? I think I should like to try them for awhile."

Aegis lifted a brow. "You don't like your robes anymore?"

"Tch! Of _course_ I like robes!" he exclaimed. "I'm a _wizard!_

"But! Someone _I _know, who knows a great deal more about the outdoors than _I_ do, has been harping about terrain and clothing adversities for the past few days. And I'm inclined to believe she knows best." He sniffed haughtily, but then tilted his head to the side and tapped his chin. "Also you seem to get terribly excited whenever you see me in leggings, for some reason."

Aegis sat back in her chair and rubbed her chin, studying him appreciatively for a moment. Xzar needed new boots too, come to think of it. Her gaze dropped to the floor and then trailed up the length of her wizard, who straightened in curious delight when he realized he was being scrutinized.

_Boots wrapped to the mid thigh, _she envisioned on his slender frame. Then she leaned forward with a gleam in her eyes. "This idea. This _must_ occur," she told him solemnly.

Xzar grinned from ear to ear. "You like my _legs_?" he squawked with amazement, as if the very idea that he _might_ possess any physically attractive features whatsoever had never even once previously occurred to him.

Aegis slumped backwards in her seat with a groan of dismay. "How is _this_ the first you've noticed!?" she demanded with a toss of her hands. Then, by chance, the ranger noticed Xan making his way across the inn.

...

Edwin Odesseiron sighed: The purple mouse had been in the tavern door no longer than ten minutes before excusing himself from his company and making his way up to Edwin's table. There the elf paused and crossed his arms over his chest, staring down with what could only be described as 'haughty disdain. Edwin returned the gaze blankly, still nursing the tail end of his coffee as he wondered precisely which unlikely chimp's emotional stabilizing powers he had to blame for this ridiculously entitled glaring. (Morning was really too tiring a time for absurd arguments...)

"You are disgusting," the enchanter informed him in a low tone. "A pontifical, presumptive, and self-important braggart; of repugnant morals and a _facile intellect_."

Aegis scowled from afar. Much to her chagrin, it appeared her wizards were going to continue to operate in complete denial of how much stress their infighting were causing the party. Unless Xzar had cemented his renewed friendship with Xan by helping to commiserate with him about Edwin? Aegis shot her paramour a quick suspicious look. Hmm, no, Xzar tended to have incredibly exciting body language whenever he was withholding Evil Plans. Or, well, _any_ plans. Xzar could giggle manically over baking croutons, if so inclined. Presently, he looked nothing more than curious with the budding argument.

Speaking of which, Edwin hadn't responded yet, which was surprising. Aegis looked swiftly back to their conjurer and found him sipping his drink quietly. His eyes were still half-lidded, and he looked to be in mired in an unexpectedly lengthy contemplation of Xan's gaudily baited hook. After a moment he furrowed a brow and took in a long breath to speak:

"You know... I don't remember getting this angry when you started sleeping with Branwen," he observed as if genuinely puzzled by the whole affair.

Aegis raised a brow, and shared a look which Xzar returned. _Edwin's declining to rise to an argument?_ If Aegis had born any doubts that her sister was gifted with magical powers, they were quickly expunged in the light of this monumentus occurrence. _Well then. I__n her absence, how ought one positively enforce this behavior?_

Xan's eyes narrowed and his posture curled with a hint of disbelief and aggression; Clearly, he had been equally unprepared for Edwin to remain unflustered, but the lack of reaction had by no means pleased him. His next words were a dangerous reproach: "Is it not enough that you find flaying people alive to be fashionable, and can justify the assassination of entirely innocent women? Not enough that you would kidnap two people against their will and without their foreknowledge, and use them in your own selfish schemes? You decide to capstone this all by taking sexual advantage of her?"

_This is going to get out of hand, I can already tell. _Aegis rose slowly in her seat and glanced at Branwen, who had also noticed the altercation and was starting to make her way closer to the two wizards. Xan had the moral high ground in this argument, and always would, but Edwin was hardly the only party member with skeletons in his closet. Hell, Xzar didn't even need metaphors.

Edwin leaned his chin on one hand. "Is there a chance you may have voluntarily overlooked crucial details on who initiated what?" the Red Wizard suspected more than asked.

Xan glowered. "She is your _student,_ and eight years your junior."

"Both details of which I was prudent to remind her of," the Red Wizard quipped dryly. "I regret to inform you she was unmoved by my entreaties; Though I find it somewhat ironic I am being lectured on a matter of age gaps by an _elf_..." He rubbed his eye and the interior bridge of his nose. "What do you _want_, enchanter? Please speak plainly, I am _tired_."

Aegis could feel a migraine brewing, not the least of which because she was going to have to disengage Xan to get him off Edwin when she'd have much preferred to do the opposite.

Xan's posture became even more constrained; more _angry_. His arms dropped to his sides, nails digging into his palms. "You lecherous, entitled, murdering-!"

"_Xan_!" Aegis called firmly, striding forward to intercept the argument. The elf looked up at her in surprise, his brows peaking in the center as he tried to digest her sudden introduction. She locked eyes with him, and gave a small shake of her head. "Enough," she said. "Let it go."

The words clearly took a moment to register. Then his mouth curved into a disbelieving sneer or grimace, and he tilted his head to the side. "Let it _go_?" he asked her, as if she ought to be ashamed. Branwen came up behind him and touched his shoulder, but he didn't seem to know what to make of the contact.

"Edwin's sworn not to attack Dynaheir," Aegis stated rather than reminded. "It's done, Xan. I understand the desire to punish him, but it's time to let this go so we can move forward. His past, like yours- like anyone's here- is an invalid reason for starting up a fight in _my party_."

"You _trust_ him?" the elf could not believe this.

"You don't? Then you two can draw up contracts in triplicate and sign them with one another like proper mages," the ranger retorted sharply, planting her hands on her hips and leaning forward to eye both mages critically.

Edwin straightened a bit. Xan stepped back incredulously. Khalid and Jaheira blinked in confusion, and then peered at one another. A moment passed, and then they shared a knowing smirk. Xzar jumped, grinned, and then smiled down at his feet.

"Now I don't want to have to break up this fight again," Aegis continued in a low voice when she was sure her sass had made an impression. "You both claim to care about the same pink thief; well if that's the case, then _act_ like it. Find _some_ way to get along, even if it's by staying away from each other."

Xan pressed his lips together before hissing: "This cannot just be _forgotten_. He-"

"Then call it _forgiven_. Do you have any arguments or evidence which you haven't already shared with me?" Aegis pressed him. "Do you think I wasn't listening to you? I _know_ what you are saying, Xan_, _but the decision is _made_. He stays."

The elf stared at her, a retort fighting at his lips. Branwen squeezed his shoulder more tightly. Aegis straightened up to every one of her considerable inches, and crossed her arms over her chest. She was- and she knew it- their leader.

Xan's expression quieted to something internal and pessimistic, and his eyes lowered momentarily as if he were visually assembling his thoughts. He said nothing at first, and then he straightened himself out like the aristocratic creature he was, and looked back up at her with a resigned expression. "I may not understand the reasoning behind your judgements, Aegis of Candlekeep," he said in soft monotone, "but I will, as always, respect them. Excuse me."

Aegis watched as he turned and pushed his way towards the exit. She shared a look with Branwen, who met it just before hurrying after him.

_Well. At least this time I didn't axe anyone, or threaten to pulp their head on a rock, _the Ranger sighed inwardly. After a brief reflection, she turned about to see Edwin's reaction.

What did she expect to see? Entitled laughter and derisive comments tossed at the elf's magic school or romantic partner? Those were the hallmarks of Edwin Odesseiron's oblivious brand of 'gratitude.' But now the mage just watched her quietly, pensively, as if attempting to work out where he stood.

Thayvians, it seemed, aged well if one managed to keep them out of Thay.

...

* * *

"Wee man, I know you well enough to realize something's amiss here."

"Enough, Nildoen'nin," the Enchanter requested stonily as they walked through Beregost's cold and misty streets, "I see everyone is set to defend that man, and I will say no more on the issue."

Branwen grabbed his shoulder and spun him about. He stumbled in surprize, catching hold of her arm for balance. The impassibility of his face was momentarily disrupted. "Open your ears up and listen to me," she told him firmly. "That mind of yours has straits I cannae cross alone, and I'm telling you that this looks important from where I'm standing."

"Branwen, to be fair, I think I've heard this talk before..."

"Aye, and I've heard your rebuttal. You always reach a resolution, yet somehow it looks like we all keep going in circles. But _I_ think I know _why_."

His mouth tightened, but then he forced himself to relax when he concluded there was no rational reason to be angry with Branwen. "I..." He was frustrated, though. "I will try to listen."

"This isn't a defense of Edwin; he's his own mess, and one for straightening out with other conversations. This is a talk about _you_ I want to be having."

It was hard to take that at face value, but Xan tried.

"I know you well," she reiterated. "And something's been bothering me for awhile, which I wasn't clever enough to work out. Xan, you are cynical or even downright hostile towards every black-and-white thinker we've ever met. You argue with Ajantis any opportunity you get, you're one of the big people who warmed up to Viconia and protect her from Kivan, and you've taken Xzar and Montaron's side against Jaheira and Khalid in big ways at times. I could name any conflict in the world and suppose you'd be able to play devil's advocate on it, _especially_ where good and evil are concerned."

The apparently change in topic almost seemed to lift Xan's spirit a little, as if cynicism were something to be proud of and preen oneself over with a 'well I don't mean to brag, but...' appended.

"Only now, for the last few months, you've clung doggedly to the stance that our Red Wizard's evil and must be dealt with, even when in private you can conclude the issue _is_ gray. True or not I can't say; I'm just realizing _that it's not you_. The only thing which riles you up is when other people are being- what's the word?- _cliche_. You don't even like that _word_ 'Evil.' The only people you make judgements about, are judgemental people!"

Xan's brows furrowed together and upward.

Branwen slowly released his shoulders, seeing now that she had his attention. "I've only seen you lock up like that against two people since I've met you, and they were Xzar and Edwin. Not Viconia. I thought about why that was, and I remembered that when we'd met Viconia you read some story of abuse in her mind."

Xan watched her face as Branwen paused and tried to reassemble her thoughts. She'd digressed slightly, and arguments didn't line up in logical fashions very easily for her. Still, she managed to catch hold of what she'd intended to say, and she looked very seriously back down at him.

"I heard the explanation in your voice today; I heard it in what you pointed out, what you _said_. You mentioned 'flaying alive,' 'murder,' and 'taking sexual advantage of.' And when you were angry with Xzar, it wasn't for the betrayal. It was for the _cannibalism_. Xan, what does all that sound like to you? Anything? Anything at all?"

The elf was silent, staring at her with a round-eyed and soulful expression. A long moment passed in stillness. Then he looked slowly down at nothing, and brought his hands together in front of himself to chafe lightly at the fingers. "Mullahey," the enchanter assembled. "I'm projecting my feelings concerning Mullahey." He closed his eyes and took in a long, slow breath.

Branwen swallowed. For a moment she shifted her weight from foot to foot. Then she stepped forward and lifted her hands to cup her lover's face and brush her thumbs along his cheekbones and temples. Xan did not protest. She rubbed gently over the bases of his ears.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention," said the wizard. "As an enchanter, I ought to have noticed it earlier. But then my experiences have left my objectivity somewhat crippled of late."

"I'm nae saying you were wrong about either of them," the Norheimer blurted after a moment. "Just... just that you weren't being yourself. And it was concerning me.

He nodded lightly between the warmth of her palms. "I know, Nildoen'nin. I... I have accepted my route out from this spiritual hole will be... tumultuous.

His eyes opened and he looked at her. She looked relieved and told him: "I'm alright with whatever you are."

A weak smile, sad but also hopeful and adoring, bloomed across his mouth and eyes. His voice was deep and threatened to crack. "I don't know what I ever did to deserve you," he confessed tremulously.

"Tch," she tapped him on the top of the head in chastisement. "It's the magical, glowing, ancestral longsword. Women appreciate fine weaponry."

That tore a laugh out of him. He stepped into her and rested his temple upon her sternum, and she hugging him to her tightly.

They stayed close together like that for awhile, with Branwen hugging him to her with one hand and massaging his scalp and ears with the other.

"Can I confess something," the elf murmured quietly, "on... on an entirely unrelated issue?"

"Of course."

"I want to cut my hair," he said.

Branwen drew her head back a bit to peer down at him where he was sandwiched into her bosom. "How short?" she wondered curiously.

"To my chin," was his meek answer.

Branwen considered this and then gave him a loving squeeze and went back to rocking him gently. "Imoen's going to be mighty disappointed. Xzar too, I think."

"We'll be even then," the elf decided with a sniff. "I'll have gotten back at them in the only way I can."

Branwen broke out laughing. "I'll cut it for ye _myself_."

...

* * *

When Imoen made her way downstairs, she gave her sister a 'Good Morning!' hug and kissed her temple before hopping off to sit beside Edwin. The wizard had finally finished his coffee, but her presence induced him to order another and pull out his spellbook to study.

Kivan glanced at how the two socialized. Then, after awhile, he came up to their table and produced a mottled baton of wood.

"The BlackSun!" Imoen squealed so loudly that several morning bar patrons nearly leaped out of their skins. The weapon _really_ needed to be renamed. Kivan cringed. "Oops," she laughed, reaching out to take the baton. "Thank you _so_ much!" she gushed, and stood up slightly to kiss his brow. "Best almost brother ever."

The wild elf smiled, if just a little. He took a moment to tousle her hair, and then returned to her seat.

Edwin glanced at Imoen. She once more reduced the gap between them to nothing. This seemed to please him, as he returned comfortably to his book.

Aegis had intended to wait for her late risers to be up before heading out that morning (Shar-Teel and Viconia) but Coran showed up out of the blue not much later. He paused to wave at Aegis, and to take notice that Imoen was too busy with breakfast to chat, before hurrying upstairs into the inn.

Kivan glared arrows at him from entry to exit.

Aegis raised a brow, glancing from Coran's departure to Kivan's disapproving glower. _I've been leading this party long enough to know when I've somehow magically and accidentally recruited someone. _To Aegis it already seemed plain as day that they'd caught a severe case of elvish vagabond. She doubted her Wild Elf would be happy to hear the news.

Perhaps it was best if she got Kivan out of the tavern for a few hours then, at least until Viconia had woken up and eaten breakfast. "Kivan," she called gently, leaning over to tug at her Wild Elf's sleeve. He twitched slightly, and looked at her. "Xzar and I are going winther clothes shopping. Want to come?"

"I need nothing," the ranger answered tersely and went to look away again, but she grabbed his arm to keep his attention.

"Kivan," Aegis drawled. "I know. That's what makes it a _social_ request."

The elf blinked and perked up as if startled. He considered the request for a moment as if uncertain what to do with it. Then he nodded and quickly made to stand.

...

* * *

Being 'social' with Kivan meant sharing his company without actually talking to him. As Aegis and Xzar chattered about Xan's uncle, Kivan lingered slightly behind and off to the side, listening. He seemed most comfortable in such a state; _present _for the warm aura of social contact, but under no compulsion to speak.

Back when Kivan had first joined their group, it had been clear he found their chattering to be mentally taxing to listen to and thus had sought to escape it as frequently as possible. Lately, however, it seemed he'd become accustomed to people's voices again. He needed people, Aegis wagered, but in his own way.

Thus far, their shopping expedition had not been very successful. When their necromancer tried on his latest coat, all Aegis could think to say was, "Well that's not going to work."

Xzar giggled and wagged his arms. "I feel like a stuffed turkey."

"You _look_ like a stuffed turkey," Aegis commented, coming up to investigate the cloak. He was too slender to go lightly on insulation, and it wasn't easy planning for temperatures so far in advance. "Which wouldn't be a problem if your favorite spells and weapons didn't all depend on your dexterity."

"Perhaps something lighter?" the necromancer suggested as he slipped out of the coat.

Aegis snorted. "Edwin's has at least twenty pounds on you, and he's in two layers of full voluminous robes with silks underneath. We're going to have to find something that either uses downy feathers or has been minorly enchanted."

"Mn," he hummed thoughtfully. "You know, it is funny to think that my most crucial purchase for the upcoming battles will not be wands, scrolls, or spell components, but rather proper clothing..."

"Gods, wizard, I can't believe_ you_ come from Moonsea," Aegis chuckled. "Isn't the weather there abysmal?"

"Horribly abysmal," the wizard shuddered. "If we ever go there for any reason, do remind me to remind you to dress me."

Aegis almost wished there_ was_ a reason to go to Moonsea, if only to see what sort of crazy, upside-down world Xzar had been born into. But no, it was a dangerous place to visit even before factoring in her lack of contacts and Xzar's rogue status.

"It _is_ abysmal," Kivan confirmed, which was how anyone at all found out he'd ever been to Moonsea. Sometimes, it was difficult to remember how _old_ elves were.

...

* * *

When Ajantis made it downstairs at around the same time as Shar-Teel, several people immediately presumed the worst. The fact that he was blushing certainly didn't help. But when Viconia showed up an hour later with a very smug look upon her face and a Coran at her heel, it became apparent that Ajantis had in fact been escaping an undesired voyeurism of elvish/drow lovemaking.

Edwin, who hadn't previously been aware that Corans and Viconias were affiliated with one another, stiffened. He stared at the two incredulously as they crossed the inn.

Imoen reached up, grabbed the side of his beard, and pulled his head back down to focus on the spell she was trying to transcribe. {The construct on the left,} she wondered, "_why_ is it there? Why not, say, here? Or here?"

Edwin glanced up at the elvish thief and then back down at Imoen. {Your elf 'friend' from the other night is in our tavern,} he noted with an uncertain growl.

Imoen waved a hand dismissively. {Yeah I dumped him on Viconia. Focus!}

Which to be: 'Insulted that anyone other than himself was sleeping with Viconia,' or 'Reminded that the Pink Monkey had spurned the elf's offer in order to come study magic'?

Or simply 'Bemused that _Imoen_ was telling _him_ to focus?'

{It helps delineate the manner in which the spell can be dismissed,} Edwin explained after a moment, losing interest in the elf's sleeping arrangements. He lifted a hand to the small of her back, feeling the heat of her against his palm. _Mn. _His fingers rested there.

Though Edwin didn't see it, Viconia eventually turned a shrewd stare on them. Perhaps she might have said about the thief's inexplicable downgrade in mate, if only Imoen or Edwin had been paying even the slightest bit of attention to her. As it was, the thief and wizard ended up in yet another rapid and gesticulation-filled discussion in Mulhorandi that was utterly impenetrable to anyone else.

...

* * *

The first divine magic which Gorion had requested in over two decades came in the form of a spiritual divination. He was trying to identify exactly what had been done to his shoulder.

Gorion had never been ordained as a cleric of Knowledge. Certainly, not with the order and ceremony with which he'd been accepted as Mystra's. But as he called on his patron, he felt Lore incarnate answer him like a shuffling of pages on the edge of his subconscious. Quietly, the god answered. Quietly, and with no great ceremony, as if he had simply always been there.

Gorion took in a shaky breath.

"Did it work?" his halfling asked.

"Yes. Yes, the infection stems from a Necrotic Cyst which was created in the wound," the wizard murmured. "Vile magic. Ingenious, but vile. We're not up against small enemy in this place." He contemplated the Remove Curse scroll. "Unfortunately, I am not sure I will be able to channel enough force behind this spell to kill the Cyst. And if I fail, it will only temporarily remove the symptoms."

Tallix frowned. "What do we do then?"

Her aasimar chuckled. "Oh, Tallix. Do you remember that speech you just gave me about being unable to heal?" He smiled at her. "Do you think you can cut the Cyst out?"

She straightened in surprise.

"It should be around an inch in diameter," Gorion explained. "A swollen knot of black tissue. If you are careful, you should be able to peel it out as a unit without losing any of it inside. Once that's done, I will be able to heal the wound and remove the effects of the Cyst very simply."

Tallix looked to his shoulder doubtfully. "Ye are sure it will work."

"Nearly."

She eyed him suspiciously. "Have ye ever dealt with this sort of thing before, Lad?"

"No." He smirked. "But that's the thing about wizards, my friend. We are very good at interpreting encyclopedic manuals."

...

* * *

Tallix had Gorion peel the edge of his robe down. Then she pressed him up against the wall to stabilize her work.

"I'm going to jab ye with something," she told him.

"I suppose I'll have to acce-ah!-ept, that," he jumped more in surprise than pain as she produced a needle tip and pressed it a full inch into his shoulder. "Anesthetic?" he hoped faintly, just moments before he lost all sensation in his fingers.

"Aye, don't need ye squirming. Eh? Don't ye dare poke around at yer own arm wizard, we've enough problems without adding more of yer curiosity to the mix."

Gorion cleared his throat and tried his best to regain an aura of dignity. "Do you need light?"

Tallix rolled her eyes and drew out a knife and a dull, hooked-looking instrument. "It's a cold pocket, no? Infravision'll do. Now try not ta interrupt me," she requested before pressing the knife into his shoulder.

Tallix's hands were uncannily steady for her age. She was precise and quick with the tip of her blade, and it seemed she recalled something of the lay of the injury even after only glimpsing it once. She glimpsed the inside of the wound, withdrew her knife, and made another quick incision.

Two cuts with a sharp knife; that's apparently all it took her to find it. She wordlessly widened the opening, inserted the hooked tool, and pressed the knife back into the first wound to give the hook a little leverage.

A moment passed in silence. Gorion looked from the wound, to her face, and then back again. A tingling was coming back to his fingers, though he was not yet in any pain.

"Got it," the halfling informed him, extracting a tight nodule of ice-temperature from the mouth of the wound. "Done. Rest's on ye, lad."

He'd... He'd expected the operation to have taken more time. He'd expected to lose more blood. He'd anticipated more time to bolster himself, to... to...

Gorion's stomach rolled. He grimaced to himself, the fingers of his good hand tightening on his spellbook as pain and feeling returned to his opposite arm. _Dare I cast from this? _His gaze fell nervously to the scroll.

"Ri..." Tallix pressed him once more.

"I _know_," the mage hissed. "I- I know." He nodded, straightening up slightly and brushing his fingers over the cover. "I _can. _Oghma help me, I can."

A prayer came to his lips in a pidgin of Angelic and Draconic.

_Please guide me. Please show me again that you are with me. Keep me free from that thing's lies and mistruths...!_

The scroll dissolved, and energy swam up around the site of his injury. It purged the corrupted veins, leaving his shoulder bare and intact but for the bleeding.

Success! So simply: Success! Gorion reached mentally for a prayer of healing, but the words fumbled as they came to his lips. A heat built up behind his cheeks and eyes, and a shudder quaked through him.

_Music_. That's what Oghma's power had felt like: A score of music penned out in a dark, blackberry color, on cream parchment. How did one _describe_ the feeling of a _god_ flowing through their spirit? Like music. There had been blue, too. Light blue; Minstrel's blue?

With upteen gods squabbling over his soul, after so many years of uncertainty and paranoia, and while partially stranded in a temple to Bhaal, how could Gorion have possibly _described_ the experience of calling out to Oghma and actually receiving an answer?

Tallix steadied him as half laughed and half sobbed. He was grateful for her, and rested against her hold for a support as his body and spirit vented so many chaotic emotions. Oghma, he had felt _Oghma_. The god of Knowledge, his patron, his guide; the entity who had brought him to Aegis.

"I'm _okay_," he breathed to reassure her as he grabbed hesitantly for his wounded shoulder. "I _am_ okay." Oghma had, after all, given him the power to mend himself.

...

* * *

When Xan and Branwen returned to the inn some time after noon, Edwin and Imoen were discussing conjuration theory over a basin of water. Their lack of appropriately themed primers on the subject was causing them a few stumbling blocks, particularly as conjury came simply to Edwin and he had to be careful not to gloss over explanation. Still, they seemed to be making progress on some type of _Acid Touch_ spell.

When Edwin noticed Xan had returned, he said nothing. He did, however, stop fighting for Imoen for shoulder space between them. Instead, he slipped his arm around her back and hips and and tugged her a little closer into himself.

Xan's mouth drew to the side contemptuously, though perhaps he felt _irritation_ more than outright hostility. _Ugh. This is going to be revolting to watch. No, no, there are more worthwhile things to pay attention to than one fool's territorial gloating. _Imoen's birthday, for instance, was on the morrow. Perhaps he and Branwen ought to make sure all the preparations were in place-

The Thayvian turned his mouth into her temple as she worked.

_Ew_.

Xan turned completely away, and had just about reached the innkeeper when Imoen must have caught sight of him.

A tremendous: "Wh-!? NoooOOOoooooOOOoooooooooooo!" soared up from behind him.

Xan paused, a wave of almost silly amusement cresting over him. He heard the scraping of chairs, and then a pink thief had dashed up beside him and grabbed at his sleeve. Upon assessing that this was indeed him, and that his hair had been severed to a few scant inches in length, she dropped to her knees and held her arms up as if in apostrophe to the gods. "Whyyyyyyyyy!?" she wailed in horror.

Annoyance faded like a dying mist in sunlight. Xan grinned and lifted his chin, crossing his arms over his chest. "I like it this way," he established.

"Nuuuuuu...!" she whined again, this time quieter, and then she threw both of her arms around his knees to hug them and sag into him. "It was soooo booootifuullll...!"

He sighed with an exasperation he did not feel. Why was he so elated? How long had he been at odds with Imoen? "That was _exactly_ why I cut it."

"Goodbye beautiful haiiiirrrrr," Imoen mourned. "It was such a pleasure knowing you!"

Xan rolled his eyes and planted his hands on his hips. "Pardon me, but are you finished yet?"

Imoen considered the question. "That depends." She sniffed. "Can I use it to make a wig?"

Xan grinned almost involuntarily. "No."

She looked shocked. "But why? Any woman would die for hair that nice!"

"Any other woman might have had it. But for you? No. No, you may not."

Her eyes widened. "What!? No! Why are you punnisshhhinnnggg mmmeeee!?" she whined up at him. "Don't you know I wuv you!?"

_Alright. Today has gotten at least marginally better_, the elf ascertained, grinning down at Imoen. _'You both claim to care about the same pink thief,' _Aegis had said. Xan couldn't speak for whether Edwin cared, but Xan himself did. And if this meant he and she would finally be able to stop arguing...? Yes, perhaps that was worth it.

Though Xan certainly took private pleasure in how irritated Edwin looked that their spellcasting lesson had been interrupted.

...

* * *

As Aegis had expected, Coran asked that evening if he could accompany their party.

"I won't even ask for a cut of the loot or bounties you are able to haul in while gearing up for the forest," he explained. "And I'll gladly accompany you onto your mission. Afterwards, however, I would appreciate if you'd help me with my own bounty. You remember I mentioned a marauding Wyvern who's been scaring the pants off the locales? Well I've been up into Cloakwood to scout out the thing, and I've a good sense for where to find it. The trouble I've had in getting further is mostly the spiders, to be honest; there's a patch of forest thick with their webs for miles to each side."

Aegis considered the usefulness of having a second archer and a Viconia-Mood-Booster in her party.

Minsc contemplated the act of wrestling with giant scaly monsters for the sake of terrified townsfolk (and their poor abducted cattle!) By the dumb grin on his face, the heroism coefficient must have been stupendous.

Jaheira weighed the balance of slaying a Wyvern against the fears of the peasant folk. Most likely, she surmised, the Wyverns had become overcrowded for some reason. She was willing to thin the herd of this notorious individual, and to survey the overall state of the Cloakwood Wyverns population.

Kivan glared.

Khalid and Xan both perked up and asked almost simultaneously: "Spiders?"

Viconia seemed to swing back and forward concerning her opinion of spiders. She almost looked like she wanted to lecture Coran on how beautiful they were, just so that she could unnerve all the elves present. Kivan's glare made her reconsider, and she said instead: 'I could enjoy purging a marshland of spiders. The Wyvern, though, I know little of such creatures.'

"Stupid dragons with scorpion tails and no brains," Shar-Teel summarized. "Elf's smart trying to find its lair; it'll be deadly in a cave, but not so deadly as it is in the air.

"They take a team to bring down," Kivan growled begrudgingly.

"Or a clever arrow," Coran grinned impishly. "I've hunted Wyverns before.

Kivan's eyes narrowed.

"Or a big sword!" Minsc boomed enthusiastically. "Aegis, we must do this! It is only one step shy of actually hunting nasty evil dragons, Minsc is sure of this!"

"_Spiders_?" Xan repeated with a horrified grimace. "That story was _true_?" Khalid was stalk white.

Imoen broke out laughing. "I thought only girls were supposed to be scared of spiders?" she asked.

"Yes, well," Edwin muttered, "they mustn't have been catching silverfish with their bare fingers as children. We've fought such things before, even amid fainting Enchanters. Spiders, in particular, are little match for fire."

Jaheira spun a disapproving glower on him. He raised a brow.

"Things Edwin must take into consideration on this trip," Imoen mock-penned out on the air, "Number One: Forest Fires."

"Ah," he appreciated the Vague Druidic Glaring-to-Thorasta translation. "Well with how the season's turned out, it will be raining or at least soggy the entire time."

Aegis glanced around at her party. _It looks like we might all survive each other after all, _she decided.

Minsc looked at Edwin, pet his hamster, and wrinkled his brow. The Thayvian noticed his gaze, and grimaced slightly as if bracing himself for an intelligence drain. "Boo says," Minsc interpreted with a pout, "Lightning would be better."

Imoen glanced back at the Red Wizard and the Rashemi. Edwin's jaw had drooped slightly, and his brows were drawn together in dismay. He noticed Imoen's gaze after a moment, and then gave her a long-suffering look. {How does someone who speaks to a rodent still manage to insult _me_?}

{Boo is very clever with his whisker-thrashing,} Minsc told them sagely, and Imoen and Edwin both nearly leaped out of their skins.

...

* * *

Imoen ended up enjoying the chilly outdoor weather on the porch of the inn that afternoon, grooming Branwen's hair with Xan. The weather looked like it might clear up by nightfall, but Aegis and Jaheira had both warned a snowstorm might be coming.

Branwen mentioned Xan's diet had been improving over the last fwe months.

"Xzar was underweight too when we met him," Imoen remarked thoughtfully. "If Ae and I ever wrote that guide to the care and feeding of wizards, we'd totally remark almost all wizards are either naturally dispositioned to end up underweight or overweight, depending on whether they eat mindlessly or forget to eat at all while studying.

Xan chuckled as he ran a comb through dirty blonde locks. "Dynaheir seems fine."

Imoen giggled. "Minsc has her trained to eat whatever he puts into her hands," she commented. "As long as they stick together, I guess that means she'll end up plump!"

"I was surprised they ended up romantically involved," Xan remarked. "I would have presumed it hard to take him seriously as a partner."

"I'm sure that's why it took so long," Imoen suspected. "The only reason they slept together that first time was because Shar-Teel goaded them into it. But Minsc has a fluffy, big ole warm heart that could melt anyone. And, in case you haven't noticed, the man has abs as firm and wavy as a washboard, and pectoral muscles the size of pillows. And runs around in a loincloth half the time. Thaaattt right there could be part of the reason."

"He is one of the biggest men I've e'er seen," Branwen agreed. "Heart, body and otherwise."

Xan snickered a little. "I hope I'm not being compared?" he asked wryly.

"Nae on your life," the cleric grinned contentedly.

"So, are you still mostly eating vegetable?" Imoen asked.

"Well, I've started to think I could, perhaps, eat a _little_ meat," Xan mentioned.

"Oh?" Imoen asked.

"I've found myself growing accustomed to the taste of meat broths whenever there are insufficient vegetarian options available," he explained, "when I would have to pick the meat out of some soup or another."

"Aye, and I caught him nibbling on ham just today," Branwen added.

"I doubt I'll ever be carnivorous," Xan mused, "but I suppose I can afford to be a little less _picky_."

"What ever made you swear off meat in the first place?" Imoen asked. "I mean I hear it's not healthy to go without it too long. Heard horror stories about malnutrition in city urchins who can't even afford scraps from the butcher's."

"Well," Xan shifted, "the better one becomes at Enchantment, the more it is clearly oblivious that all living things _think_... and perhaps I grew a little squeamish and convinced myself I could live on bread and greens alone. Now that I think about it, I most likely ignored myself. I do not recall eating particularly well, even of the vegetable and fruit kingdoms"

"You should take up eating seafood," Imoen suggested. "Especially mussels and cockles and shrimp and the like. They're not the brightest things."

"Perhaps you have a plan there," he said as they finished combing Branwen's hair and began to braid it. "Though we shall have to be clever and eschew fish for awhile, lest Xzar notice and start offering me _heads_..."

Imoen grinned a little deviously. "Well, when you're a tavern keeper's daughter, you end up getting used to your food staring back at you for a wee bit before it's done been cooked and such. Fresh pork and chicken has to come from somewhere after all."

"Oh dear," Xan commented.

"And you know how killing chickens is done, right?"

The twisting motions Imoen was making indicated that Xan dearly did not want to know anything at all about how one killed chickens! "No I don't. And I don't think-!" he protested.

"They run about all aimlessly afterwards for a few minutes," she told him matter-of-factly. "Even if you cut the heads off."

Xan gaped at her with wide eyes.

Imoen broke out laughing at his violated expression. Then her face sobered. "Okay, okay. You've got me. I got weepy about it all the time. But ya know what? I'd always remember I make the _best_ chicken pot pies, and that would always make me feel considerably better."

Branwen cleared her throat. "Remind me never to take either of you whaling."

"Hey, hey Branwen," Imoen thought to ask. "What's your back story and all? I mean, I remember hearing you can't go back to the Norheim islands, right? But do you still have family there?"

"Oh aye, of course," she smiled wistfully. "The ole wan and fella- me mother and father- and me three older brothers and two sisters."

"What are your parents like?" Imoen wondered.

"Well my father is a true wheat-haired Norheimer and cleric of Tempus," Branwen explained. "In as youth he was as tall and strong as any man from north of the Spine of the World, and I'd wager he still compared to many! My mother is half Ffolk, with black hair. She's a whaling ship's captain, and I used to sail with her when I was just a girl. My mother wasn't one to stay home nursin' the youngins a day past birthing them, that's what she used to say!"

Imoen and Xan shared an impressed look. "How did they meet?" the pink girl asked. "Was it romantic?"

"One of the most romantic stories on the island," Branwen sighed almost dreamily. "And one of the happiest couples, right they are! It was time for annual celebrations, and the men and women all compete- though usually each gender only pays attention to who of their own they've beaten. Anyway, my father had made the best throws on the javelin toss, the shot put, and the hammer throw, which would have made him unabashedly the competition's king! Then my mother sauntered up out of the blue, a head shorter than everyone else and sort of out of place. She took a gander at his tosses, and told him she could beat him in all but the hammer toss.

"He laughed at her, and she told him he owed her a kiss if she could do it. He told her she owed him a fuck if she couldn't. So she strode up and beat him fair and square, two paces each. She came up short on the hammer toss, but that was understandable. And then she took her kiss from him, and strutted off just as unsociably.

"Now my Da were right horrified, and it's not the way of Norheim people to just take being beaten in such a fashion, but down deep he was rightly smitten. So he took it into his head to board her ship in the night with some of his lads, for some pillaging and raping.

"But after he got a thrown cannonball to the face and lost a nose alignment and a few teeth, his heart was irreversibly stolen and he was left with no choice but to make an honest woman of her...! Granted, she threw him and all his men overboard into the freezing waters, and they nearly died. And it _did_ take a few years for him to prove himself.

"But eventually he raised enough money to heroically afford her main mast repairs after a particularly costly skirmish. My father wasn't no wizard, but he figured out to scrutinize a woman and realize what was important to her! Oh, and there was a celebratory hog roast on a spit and a huge party. It was all very impressive, and I'm to understand Tempus heartily approved. And, well, I suppose they've been married about forty years now!"

Imoen and Xan shared another look.

"Well," The thief began, patting Xan's shoulder. "Good luck if you two ever manage to go visit your future inlaws!"

...

* * *

The weather cleared up two hours before sunset, and Imoen decided to take her spell book and notebook paper up to the roof that she might enjoy a few hours of muted sunlight while studying.

Edwin had made a valid point recently that Imoen ought to inscribe all the spells she'd memorized into her spellbook (Gorion's spellbook), so as to complete her understanding of them. It was an easy as it sounded, but the exercise had definitely prepared her for reading new scrolls and learning higher level spells. She was currently working on copying down _Acid Touch_ and _Burning Hands_. If she was lucky, maybe she'd be able to surprise him.

She'd been working for an hour and it looked to be about thirty minutes until sunrise when she realized she didnt' dare etch down another line because she'd gotten stuck, and she didn't want to ruin a page in Gorion's spellbook. Perplexed, she looked back to her notebook.

How had Edwin ever gotten her to do homework? Heh. It was a mystery. Maybe all she'd really needed was someone who believed in her and some space from Candlekeep. Oh, well, and a dash of _silly_, of course. How Edwin, of all people, had ever figured to give her space, was an enigma. She supposed his 'patience' had been a reflection on how rare it was to be able to remember one's own spells indefinitely.

She picked up her notebook, and turned it this way and that, as if doing so could cause the runes to pop out and assemble themselves for her.

"So," came a distinctly eastern voice, and she turned around in surprise to see Edwin picking his way carefully across the shingles. "_This_ is where you so often disappear to..."

He wasn't the most graceful of wizards, and seeing this made her smile. He had an opened wine bottle with him. "Color me surprised you've found me!" she laughed, patting the roof beside her in an invitation to sit. "I didn't take you for much of a roof person!"

Edwin reached her slowly, digesting the notion that, in Imoen's world, roofs were something like wine or cats with which people could naturally affiliate. "I would not have labeled myself such, no," he decided as he arrived and quinted out at the horizon. "Were you attempting not to be found?"

There was a small lilt that snuck out in how he spoke, a clue that he was still fishing for reassurances and information about whatever else had happened between the two of them. Imoen shook her head. "You wanna watch the sunset with me?" she asked.

He looked at her with narrowed eyes.

She grinned. "See? I didn't reason you'd come up onto a _roof_ to watch the _sunset_ with me."

Hearing it put that way seemed to have an affect on him, for he arranged his skirts and crossed his legs to sit beside her. "It's different," he said after a brief silence, and passed the wine bottle to her.

"What is?" she asked, taking a swig.

"Being _instructed_ to relax, as if it should be hard to put the group mission aside and think of oneself. Instead of _expecting_ to be pampered."

She glanced at him, wondering if this meant he was thinking about his compatriots. "You're a little spoilt at times, but it's not that bad. Were you raised to be pampered?" she asked. "

"No," he answered, taking back the wine. "My father cultivated strong, goal-driven work ethics, especially from the magically gifted. Success was its own reward." He took a drink. "Then again, most Thayvians do not shower magelings with praise. Perhaps said magelings demand praise in adulthood for precisely that reason."

Aha. Edwin was thinking rather un-shallow-sounding thoughts. He probably needed her to pay more attention than he was letting on, and maybe even fish for topics. "Hey, I've a question. What was with that Thayvian woman, Lasala? The one who didn't die when they ambushed Dynaheir."

Edwin looked at her in surprised. "Why do you think I thought of her any differently than the other four?"

Imoen pursed her lips to the side. "I don't know," she decided. "Something subtle? Something slightly odd in how you tried to suffocate her instead of slitting her throat or lighting her on fire again?"

Edwin actually did spend some time overturning the question. Then he lifted the bottle to his lips. "She was your age," he mentioned. "She lagged magically behind her age group. Had a similar gift for manipulating people."

Imoen scowled at that phrasing, but wagered the end sum made a sort of vague sense. Her face softened and she nodded, hoping that the Thayvian girl had found her way to a passable afterlife.

"Here," the wizard said abruptly, reaching into his robes and drawing out a folded piece of parchment. He offered it over to her, and she took it with some curiousity. It was his father's letter, she then realized; the one he'd demanded back from her earlier. "There is nothing particularly exciting about it. But you may read it."

Imoen looked up at him with surprise. Then she nodded and siddled up closer to him to read. "What's his voice sound like?" she asked.

"What? Why? How am I to answer that?"

"I always read things in the voice of the people who write them," she explained, unfolding the letter.

"Hnh. Charismatic, quiet, and dry."

"Ooh-hoo, that's like the perfect description for an evil tyrant wizard's voice! I got chills just imagining it!"

Edwin raised a brow at her. "Excuse me. What about _my_ voice?"

"When you're not a Peacock, you're definitely a Dragon," she not-explained. Surprisingly, Edwin winced. She glanced up at him in surprise. "What was that?"

He didn't say anything, staring out at the horizon. Then he took another swallow of wine. A silence passed between them, but Imoen didn't look away or start reading the letter. She waited, bewildered, her arm still looped through his.

"Dynaheir," he said at last, "did know her name." He licked vintage from his lips, and his nails tightened against the glass of the bottle. "She called her 'Sheilaktar.'"

Imoen wasn't sure what to do. Edwin had just voluntarily opened a _tremendous_ topic. So tremendous, in fact, that the only way she could think of to respond was by asking a very Edwinish question on his behalf: "That's a woman's name?"

"A earned moniker," he suspected. "Meaning 'Dusk Dragon'."

Imoen straightened a little. "You're wondering if you're anything _like_ her," she realized.

The words were no sooner out of her mouth than Edwin physically recoiled from her, his posture stiffening and coiling under her touch. His withdrawal was so instinctive and hurt-looking in appearance, that she scrabbled for purchase on his robes and called out an apologetic, "Wait!"

He didn't look at her, not directly, but his gaze fixed sharply on the space between them to indicate he was listening.

"I'm sorry; It's okay," she both apologized and reassured. When he didn't try to pull away, she scooted back beside him and tried to nestle into his side once more. He did not yield to her touch, but neither did he move to pull away. "Just stay with me?" she asked.

His eyes lifted back to her. After a long pause, he offered the wine bottle to her again. She gave a heavy sigh to let out nerves for both their sakes, and drank a big gulp. He took the bottle back, and she snuggled up thoroughly into him and set to reading the letter.

Edwin's posture relaxed, slowly.

It wasn't particularly exciting, just as Edwin had suggested, although it indicated that her Red Wizard was still in a bit of trouble at home. More than anything, it showcased Homen Odesseiron's stern, pointed, and highly effective sentence structure. _Charismatic, quiet, and dry indeed. _His calligraphy was narrow, sinuous, and elegant. The words seemed to suggest an admonishment, but that indirectly implied the old man most likely would end up helping Edwin.

"Huh." She smoothed the paper and then folded it neatly back up. "How do you say his middle name?" she asked, pausing at the signature line. She now knew 'Odesseiron' and could memorize the 'Homen' one now.

"Nadezdha."

Imoen folded it closed entirely, and looked up at him. "Thank you," she said, recognizing the sharing gesture for whatever intimacy it implied.

He nodded quietly, taking the letter and putting it away. He adjusted his weight and then noticed her spellbook.

"I'm stuck," she confessed.

He eased an arm around her shoulders. "Show me."

...

* * *

[Author's Note]

Nope, no notes! :3


	29. Necromancy and Cake

[Author's Note]

Please tell me the words in this chapter title are not related to one another...

...

* * *

**_Necromancy and Cake_**

...

* * *

Aegis watched Jaheira put the finishing touches into her frostbite remedies as Xzar dressed up in the new clothes Aegis had bought for him that day.

They'd found a tight-fitting green jacket with cuffs which had come up from Nashkel and was being sold by the very hedgewitch whose storeroom Imoen and Edwin had so molested the day before.

The garment had been expensive, as its interior stuffing had been made from a very thin layer of winterwolf hair. Xzar had reported he couldn't remember feeling so warm previously in his life, though he was highly suspicious of anything which had been woven from canine hair. However, after submitting the garment to Pretzels, who proceeded to roll herself all over it, he judged it acceptable.

They'd had the garment tailored that evening, and paired it with similar trousers. The boots had then taken them quite a bit of shopping to find.

"Tada!" the necromancer proclaimed, hopping down the stairs and then doing a little twirl. "Look! Look, look, look!"

Jaheira raised a brow, and glanced at Aegis.

The boots came up to his knees. The wrappings for the boots came to his thighs, with the material of the trousers peeking out from their tops. All sleek, slender, brown leather. The cuffs of his shirt were a little long and partially covered his hands, and he had secured green, fingerless gloves. Atop this all, of course, he still wore her cream and red Candlekeep Cloak.

"Am I beautiful?" he hoped, as he pretended to fluff his hair. "Well? _Well_?" Aegis sighed happily. He clasped his hands in delight, rubbed his cheek into his fingers, and wiggled happily in place, and gave a high, quiet: "Yay!"

There would surely have been a great deal of amorous doting between the two (which Jaheira would never have approved of), had a petite Enchanter not abruptly rushed up beside them with a look of grave alarm on his face, and a posture that suggested dramatic music ought to begin playing.

Aegis perked up. Did this have to do with the birthday party? Xan caught her gaze.

"The baker has fallen ill."

...

* * *

"There has to be more than one good baker in the whole town," was Aegis' response as she stood to attend to this grave issue.

"I can bake," Xzar piped up.

Xan shook his head at Aegis."For such a project they are accustomed to being booked greatly in advance. You must recall that the road into Baldur's Gate is still closed owed to the gate situation, and that the town is currently overflowing with transient guests who have more needs than the city's resident baking population is necessarily equipped to handle."

"I _can_ bake," Xzar protested.

Aegis frowned, grasping her chin as Khalid gravitated worriedly over to see what was the matter. Viconia lifted a brow as if they were all idiots. "Do you think we can change their minds with gold? I mean we can pay much more than the average baked goods is worth."

"But _I _can bake," Xzar attempted to interject.

"I asked after that," Xan sighed, "And it could be possible- we are the town heros after all. But they said that we would have to speak with their clients, whom they were unwilling to discuss with me in the interest of professionalism." He paused. "I thought of Branwen in that moment, and managed to reign in my urge to charm everyone. Particularly as they all looked overworked and tired."

"Is this a bad time to mention I know how to make icing, too?" Xzar wondered.

"Well, d-do we _need_ a professional baker?" Khalid wondered. "Any of the kitchen girls here can make _cake_, I'm sure."

"Eggs and sugar are the crucial ingredients for white or dyed frostings," Xzar explained, apparently to no one. Then he realized Minsc had also assembled, and appeared to be taking an interest in what he was saying. "Then you can add fruit juice to color them."

"Imoen would still appreciate, but this ought to have been one hell of a cake," Aegis sighed. "Not that I know much about differentiating pastries from one another. I don't have much of a sweet tooth myself."

"There's also the option of coca frostings or cake bases, which are more expensive," Xzar continued. "I wonder what sort of cake would be best? Fudge? Icecream? Fruit? Yogurt?"

"She once explained it as loving all cake, but nevertheless having a very refined palette for them," Xan was dismayed.

"Well," Minsc considered with brows, and it looked as if he was going to suggest something which took would take him a tremendous amount of goodwill and restraint, "the Evil Wizard might know what kind of cake to make for little Imoen...?"

"Well there has to be some g-grandmother or such we could employ," Khalid considered. "P-perhaps the innkeepers m-might have recommendations?"

"Oh that's true," Xzar mused, upon realizing that Minsc was referring to Edwin. "Do _you_ know how to bake?" he suddenly thought to ask. Minsc bobbed his head excitedly. "Oh, I _see_."

"I'll ask," Xan sighed.

Xzar narrowed his eyes. "Can you make all those tiny little leaf shapes and flourishes and such with icing?" Minsc bobbed his head more excitedly. "_Well_ then... Perhaps..."

Aegis sat back on her heels. "Can anyone in _our_ party bake?"

"WE SHALL MAKE THE CAKE!" Minsc announced triumphantly, charging forward and nearly knocking Aegis and Khalid both over, and startling Xan into a jump.

"Beg pardon?" Xan exclaimed.

Minsc pulled an eeping Xzar forward by one arm. "A cake is needed, and a cake shall be had! We shall do this! For Imoen! Come with Minsc, funny wizard!"

And, with Aegis, Khalid, and Xan all staring on in horror, Minsc dragged a bashfully waving Xzar off to the inn's kitchen to negotiate with the good people there.

"I don't think my lover should be allowed to be in rooms where an entire tavern's worth of people's food and drink are prepared," Aegis managed after a few seconds.

Xan and Khalid both gulped. "I'll monitor them," the former said after the paralysis of his initial shock had finally abated, and then he dashed off after the two.

...

* * *

When Gorion's shoulder was mended and the duo had ransacked the Bhaalite/Myrkite shrine, they turned their attention to the hallway, across which their passage was still blocked by the mass of a very large gelatinous cube,

Before attempting anything else, Gorion sent Tallix up to see if the ooze would identify her as food. It didn't turn on her, even as she podded it with the tip of a shortsword. Next, Gorion himself drew near. The cube was neither interested in him. Satisfied that the cube would not hinder their escape, Gorion pointed up at the gape over the top of the jelly.

"We'll go over it then." Tallix agreed. "One at a time. It's a fine time to redouble my basic defensive spells, come to think of it."

Tallix smirked at the idea of having to slash apart a jelly while rescuing a _Stoneskinned _wizard. "Ladies first," she said, and then stepped out of the way and bowed with a flourish so that he could lead.

...

* * *

If it hadn't been immediately obvious to either Gorion or Tallix, it was now clear that the lowest floor of the tomb had been built to handle the graves of everything from high-profile criminals to magical anomalies.

Why a _lich_ was lurking about in its depths, Gorion could only guess. He had some hypotheses: Perhaps the lich's phylactery had never been found, so his enemies had weakened him into an inanimate state and buried him on hallowed ground? Perhaps the tomb's recent desecration had then awakened said lich?

"Strange," Gorion remarked as Tallix reached him. "The undead have all run off on us."

"They know we just found that shrine," Tallix remarked. Then she lifted a hand and signed to him: "Will wait and ambush us."

Gorion signed back: "He not know we can use all stuff. I will hold back. Trick." She nodded, and together they crept slowly along.

The layout of the tomb seemed more like a prison than a grave. It's halls were segmented into numerous different kinds of alcoves, all of which were either barred with doors or which had suffered having their doors torn from their hinges. Even the hallway was segmented, though something had long ago battered through the majority of its gates and left them as depleted shells.

By the way the doors buckled, Gorion reasoned this meant something _large_ was down there with them. It also seemed reasonable to suspect that many types of questionably-safe bodies (such as those belonging to victims of demon possession, or, perhaps, vampires) might have been interred within the basement. Yet as he and Tallix crept along, it became clear that certain attributes of their surroundings were not lining up into a cohesive story.

Mostly, this was because _none_ of the sarcophagi looked to have been disturbed. Stone caskets lined the walls on either side of them, and filled gated alcoves beyond. All of them, however, were reinforced with metal, magically sealed, bolted shut, and barred off into their little hovels. There were no signs to suggest any of them at all had been opened.

"Odd," thief and mage finally expressed, simultaneously.

As they traveled along the main necropolis 'roadway,' the duo emerged from cramp burial arrangement into a long, tall, open hallway that did not seem at all pragmatic on space. Gorion frowned and stepped hesitantly on to a pathway of raised stones which wound across the hall. Immediately he could feel that he had entered a tunnel of protective energy.

Whispers rippled across the room, building layer by layer. The whispers mounted into distant crying, then sobs, than loud shrieking and gnashing of teeth. Shimmering white shapes, transparent and thin, fluttered by the dozen among the pillars. There were easily two hundred of the ghostly shapes immediately in view; some chasing frantically after things that could not be found, some curled up alone and wailing over bundles of cloth, others using nails to claw at their own faces and hair.

"Ah," Gorion murmured, peering in disturbed wonder up at all the spiraling shapes. Starting a _collection_ was certainly not anything Gorion had presumed one could or should do with ghosts, but then again if one rapidly removed them from their original hauntings and yet did not have time yet to deal with each and every individual spirit, one would need a location to store them.

It wasn't just ghosts either, by the look of things. Spectres stood quietly flanking the tunnel, their eyes dark with focus and their forms marked with signs of violent death. Above them, coiling, billowing, cloth-like shapes with claws curled about through the room; wraiths. High near the rooftop, Allips babbled and whined in constant strings of madness, suicidal even after death and lashing out in vain at other spirits drew near it. Shadows twisted along the pillars and floors without forms to cast them. Umbral animals, black and distorted, wound their way aimlessly about the walls and ceilings. There were even forms of incorporeal undead which he could not identify!

And yet, all of the undead seemed to be relatively docile for their circumstances. The temple's priests must have taken great pains to neutralize each specific case.

"I'm guessin we're not ta leave this nice path of stones," Tallix remarked. "At least without some protection from incorporeal undead."

"That seems to be the case," Gorion agreed. "This tunnel must have been a means of viewing and communicating with them without relying on spells. It suggests they were meant to be visited by priests, once."

"If I was a lich, I'd ambush us here," Tallix told him. "Even without the natural hazard, it's too broad and easy to get around us. I say we back up and find another way to walk."

A somewhat nasal sounding voice interrupted them: "The lich? _She_ most likely already has her 'men' creeping up behind you."

Gorion jumped, and then looked up to see a wraith hovering very near to them, with its fingers long and black, and its eyes like maroon coals. For a moment, he was certainly he must have identified the wrong ghostly originator of the voice. Then he raised a brow. "Erm. Hello?"

The wraith inspected him. It's attention was far greater attention than any other spirit, almost as if it alone could _see_ them. Perhaps that was the case; perhaps ghosts were oblivious to most things they could not sense living energy emanating from. "Hello," it (he?) acknowledged after a moment. "My concept of time is foggy, but it seems it has been a long while since living people walked these passages."

Gorion straightened curiously. Where once he might have experienced an instinctive urge to unmake this undead abomination, now he felt only curiousity and a begrudged respect that anyone's sanity could have survived so many years cooped up with the wailing and gnashing of hundreds of other ghosts. _Perhaps age has mellowed me_. "You seem remarkably well put together for a wraith," he decided.

"Well," the wraith sighed long and low, "I _was_ a magus, once," he offered by way of explanation. "With it comes the skill of focus." Then he tilted his head to the side. "You are most likely not in the position to make conversation. I surmise you are being herded as we speak, so I will be brief: You cannot expect to wade through her armies and survive."

Gorion frowned. "We are reasonably capable individuals," he pointed out.

"Be that as it may, you are against _infinite_ numbers," the wraith counseled. "You must understand that her control at any one point in time is limited, and she is still recovering from acute weakness after being entombed on hallowed ground for so long, but she can immediately replace what she loses."

What a bizarre conversation. "How?" he asked as Tallix kept an eye on both doorways. "We've seen no opened tombs, and the closed ones look well proofed against intrusion."

"Against physical intrusion, yes," the wraith explained. "Yet after inspecting some of her toys, I am certain this is no pure feat of necromancy he is conducting. This appears to be a work of _conjury, _and is connected to a power node she's harnessed that peeks over the center of this tomb."

"The High Hedge ley lines," Gorion blurted, because this made sense. His eyes widened. "This is the reason for the black skeletons _on the surface_?"

The wraith seemed excited. "Ah! Good you are no fool! Listen quickly, then. She has a zombified dragon- dreadful thing, but small- and there is some kind of shrine reachable through a long hallway you can access with a sconce to the side of this chamber." He pointed a long claw. "Which might help you evade him. You will have to protect yourselves against energy drains, or evil, or some such if you plan to walk across it, however."

That put Tallix ill at ease: "And I suppose ye are just providing this information out of the goodness of your heart?"

"Banish the thought," the wraith replied a little snidely. "I would like to get out of here. I am not particularly picky about _how_, though I'm rather sure I made some religious mistakes towards the end of my life and would appreciate not being smited. I've little eagerness to meet the Abyssal viper who has stake out a claim on me. But we can discuss that bidding process at another time. For now, I intend that you _survive_. Find whatever she has done around this node of power, and disrupt it before you face her! "

...

* * *

Tallix was already impossible to track, and Gorion had spells raised to make himself invisible to anyone, including Elminster. As they hurried down passage after passage, they spotted an arcane eye that hovered blindly past them. Without a map, homing in on the center of the prison was not easy. The best clue they had was the general curve of the corridors, but at times even those could be misleading.

Undead began patrolling the corridors for them.

They knew they were getting close when they heard a pained roar, and the footsteps of what very much did appear to be a dragon.

"We need to get to the spellwork first," Gorion muttered. "No point taking down a zombified dragon if it isn't even _real_ and will be re-summoned immediately afterwards."

"Gotta try and find a side way through," Tallix muttered.

He nodded, listening to the footsteps draw closer. Then he straightened and looked around. "Something is hallowed. Not far from us. Another shrine?" he wondered.

"Maybe," Tallix realized. "If we're near the center, there very well could be a big shrine. Hold up, I see some seamwork."

"Hurry," he told her as she sheathed a dagger and went to investigate a few stones. The dragon paused. Then it resumed coming near her. He did not risk speaking, and instead signed to her: "Hurry!"

He heard a click behind him, and turned to see a door branded with the dual mark of Myrkul and Bhaal. Tallix pressed it open, and Gorion followed swiftly afterwards. He spun about to face the door as soon as they had entered, and quickly drew a sigil for _Silence_ upon the surface. Done. The sounds of the zombie dragon cut off sharply, and a permeating quiet spread across the room.

"Ri," his halfling elbowed him. He obeyed her, and twisted around. Ironically, they ended up precisely where they'd meant to.

Laid out before them was a large and heavily damaged temple. Half of it was indeed hallowed, although everything within it looked to have been destroyed by explosive magic. The other half of it had fallen into rot and disrepair, and appeared to have been desecrated. Smeared across its center was a thick, corroded, black smudge on the ground. It's location seemed almost arbitrary, but the red spell circles drawn in blood immediately clued Tallix in: they'd found the 'conjuration node' they'd been looking for.

"That's it," she hissed, scarcely believing their luck. "Ri!" She paused. "Gorion?" She glanced back behind her, and saw his attention had fixated on something else entirely. In fact, he had wandered off to the side (though still well within the reach of the hallow spell) and was staring at something. She raised a brow and then came over to see what he had found. She found him gazing down at the temple's main altar, where a single object had gone undisturbed by whatever cyclone had struck the room.

...

* * *

It was a knife.

It rested there, it's hilt carved from mahogany wood and tied with a bow of brilliant, golden hair. It's blade was the discolored yellow of old bone. That was what it was: a knife of bone, glutted with the taint of dozens of slain Bhaalspawn, heavy with the souls of murdered babes.

Gorion's face was slack. He stared at the artifact where it lay so innocently upon the table. Then he turned a slow, disbelieving look onto Tallix.

"You knew_," _he breathed. "This was no hunch. You _knew_ what would be here."

"Nae!" she hissed in surprise, just as startled to see the knife there as he was. "O course I didn't! How could I have? What's it even been left here for?"

"This is one of the knives," he whispered. "The ones I helped to make. Tied up with _her hair_."

Tallix caught the judicial edge in his voice and took a second look at him. "Hold on, Ri," she said, keeping her voice low. "Calm down. I had no clue that we'd-"

"You led me here," he murmured in realization, shaking his head and stepping back from her. "Through this temple, with its convenient story of religious harmony and respectful burial."

"Gorion," Tallix growled, rounding on him cautiously. "This isn't time for another of your fits."

"You were the one who sought me out in Waterdeep," he spoke aloud, as the pieces of this story began assembling with crystal clarity at last. "You were the first one to offer me council and comfort; To say that I hadn't been owned by him, and that I'd avoided his machinations. You were the one who placed all of those ideas into my head."

"I'm nae yer enemy, Ri!" she interjected in an angry and frustrated whisper. "How many times do I have ta bloody repeat that to ye before it sticks? I was a Zhentarim assassin, aye! But I were ne'er _any_ god's housemaid, or spendin me days handlin one's dirty laundry!"

The aasimar's eyes widened at her. _Laundry?!_

"Yet_ still_ ye doubt me? I told ye true as I knew about Aegis!"

"Oh did you? And yet, _there_," Gorion uttered, advancing a slow step on her and pointing towards the knife, "is the proof he has puppeted _everything_ from the start. He-" tears threatened at his eyes, but he bit them back with cold fury because his daughter still needed him to figure out what to do next, "He _meant_ for me to have her, and my defiance was an illusion. It is a holy weapon worthy of a high Priest of Bhaal, waiting for me, tied up in a bow so I'd know exactly who had left it and why. And_ y_ou brought me here."

She shook her head rapidly, stepping backwards to give him space and lifting her hands as if to appear placating. "Ri ye need ta calm down. This is a bad place fer ye ta fall apart. We can argue _later_."

Gorion upper lip curled in a sneer, and he gave a slow shake of his head. "Stop belittling my arguments by citing my soul-sickness; my thoughts are suffering no lack of lucidity. Do you think I am so helpless as to curl up crying, afraid of him, willfully eating whatever tosh I'm fed? Did he honestly believe I would take this, or does he offer it now to mock me? No, perhaps that is your role... To slip in under my paranoia and convince me it might be put to some benevolent purpose...?"

"I dinnae give two fucks about the fate of a knife," she hissed angrilly. "Ri, ye are going down a _hole. _Ye need ta listen ta me!"

"_You_ are to be the judge of this?" he snarled, his fingers already curling to access the weave. "Of _my_ sanity? So that is his purpose with you then: to employ the necessary emotional and logical manipulations in his stead."

"Yer brains are scrambling thoughts, ye stupid bird! Can't ye see how big a time frame he had ta put it here?! He had a whole bloody decade! He coulda elected ta do it years afterwards-!"

Harsh draconic crackled through the air; Ice was crackling out along the ground from where Gorion was standing and the air had grown even more chill around her.

Tallix sucked in a quick breath. "A dance then," she growled as the first shards of ice came hurdling at her en masse.

...

* * *

The crackle of ice; the spray of snowflakes. A brush near his side and he knew she'd evaded. She'd wear through his protections with small touches? A halo of cold then! He was going to have to resort to magic missiles to catch her, but he had little doubt he'd needed more than that to pin her down.

The jolt of the earth was painful, particularly as it came up to meet him faster than he thought he could fall. She slammed her palm down on the back of his skull, and stuffed his face into the floor with a force that bloodied his nose. He got halfway through through his next spell, and mist writhed about him in claws and hooks

Then pain lanced up through his hands as she bent his fingers and drove her thumb into a pressure point he didn't even know he had. He lost his grip on the weave. _Damn! Get her off!_ He bucked against her hold, sputtering past blood and trying to cast with his other hand. She was not so large as to be able to grapple with him! Yet the contact had allowed her to force her way through the majority of his defenses, and his free hand went numb with a sharp prick.

_Enough! _Spitting draconic, he got his knees under himself. She was no more than the size of a _child_ and could not physically keep him down! Yet the halfling realigned her weight, dug her heels in for leverage, and the torque she applied to his arm blinded him for a moment. _Get OFF! _He tried to heave her away, but her hold was so painful that he found he could barely move. A frustrated exclamation burst up from his breast.

"Ye are _pinned_!" he heard her hiss.

_No. _No, this would not be the way Bhaal took him! He had one thing left, one old double-edged sword! His brows furrowed and his teeth clenched. With a splash of freezing air, ice crystals crackled out from beneath him. He took in a deep breath between his teeth. The ice began twisting up in spikes, and cold vapor wrapped about his shoulders. "I will _not_ be calm for _him_!" he spat out the words, each exercise of his voice cloaking him in more frost, as crystals formed between himself and her and spikes grew up from near his elbows and knees. Cold; he focused all of the leeching power of cold at her.

He had to be hurting her. Had to be. No? She didn't move!

There was too much at stake and he had to dislodge her! That knife (the knife the knife the knife), wrapped in _that hair_, (that thing, that woman he had slept with), in all his amazingly broad and deep lies (it had pretended to love him, for years, he had told her he loved her and she had not existed), the babies, his babies, the children, Chai, _Chai_-!

...

* * *

Tallix shifted her weight, altered her grip, and then rammed her knee solidly into the thrashing wizard's kidney. The air went out of him with a shocked exclamation, and mounting hooks of ice crystals halted before they could get tall enough to pierce as well as freeze. She didn't take her hands off of him, and with good reason. When he suddenly lunged to the side, it was with such force that the two of them nearly dislocated his arm. He howled, though whether it was more in frustration or pain she could not tell.

The halfling shot a worried look towards the entryway, but if no one had come then no one _would_ come; they were being plenty loud of enough. The wards must have held. She looked back at her charge as he debated himself like a fish out of water, kicking and worming and doing quite a number on his pinned shoulder. She'd never held on to anyone who'd powered through the agony of a joint lock quite so ferociously before, and she was reluctant to pop his shoulder socket in such a dangerous location

"Gorion!" she hissed as the ice crackled about them but failed to rise any higher. "Snap _out _of it!"

She must have said the wrong thing. Gorion managed to prop himself up swiftly on his numb arm, and his shriek of rebellious _hatred_ was more bestial than human. He stayed poised like that, gulping for air as if starved of it, and breathing outward in enraged pants. His fingers were bloody where they'd clawed into the sharp edges of the ice.

Tallix bit down hard on further words, grimacing. She kept a firm hold on his other arm, and tried to figure out whether pushing him to the ground would cause him to hurt himself. What could she say? There was nothing she could say. Nothing she could _do, _either, but hold him down. Sense wouldn't get in; At least, not the sort of which she knew how to say. Damn it, but a woman with a prettier tongue could doubtless have shaken him out of this!

He jerked his weight to the left, but she held him in place. A furious sound escaped him, inarticulate and raw. Another followed it, though more strangled.

Tallix felt the shudder passing through his back muscles before the change happened; Then the next cry which left his lips was anguished and low. He breathed in shakily, and lost a sob.

She watched as Gorion's posture lolled. For a moment he seemed to try and hold onto his thoughts, and his breaths were angry and terse over the endeavor. This his arm gave out, and he slumped stone floor with an exclamation of mental pain. A shaky sob oozed up from within his chest. Another came right on its heels, and another. He lay there, a mighty wizard laid low by little more than pressure on his right elbow; impotent, vulnerable, and helpless; shaking and whimpering and crying such that the tears could be heard pattering upon the ice. It seemed as if he would curl up in a ball if it were not for the pressure she was exerting on his arm.

Talli'x fingers loosened on his arm. When he didn't lash out, she released the pin. She eased gingerly off his side. He didn't budge. She tilted her head back and took in a few long, slow breaths. A moment passed in tear-filled gasps for air and sputtered helplessness. Then, with a grunt, his halfling seated her rump down against his side, and reached over tiredly to pat his hair.

A whimper trembled its way out of him, confused from his chest to his mouth.

"I'm here," she muttered faintly, wondering if she had what it took to handle this, to keep him safe. She'd never been particularly great with words.

_..._

* * *

_T-Tallix. _He lifted his chin from the ice, weakly. _Tallix...?_ He turned his head slightly to catch some sight of her, _any_ sight of her; her, the real woman who had traveled three thousand miles on behalf of sentence fragments signed with his 'G.' _Tallix; _he wanted to touch her, desperately, _desperately_, and he didn't know if he _dared_.

"Its okay," The halfling murmured, her fingers still chafing through his hair and over his shoulder. "It's _okay_. Yer comin back together even as we're talkin. Ye're gonna be fine."

"The Timeframe-!" he blurted, seizing on to the fragmented, rolling pieces of sense which were churning about with all the feelings, because he _had_ to stake down that piece of sanity for fear it might elude him again for the ease of draconic. _The timeframe._ That was the tiny anchor, the bit of thought that needed to be expanded upon and examined for validity if only everything would calm down.

"Just breathe lad," his halfling suggested. "No emergency, looks like. Nae this time."

"I-I-" the aasimar sputtered, lifting up his bloodied hand to look at it. "I can't tell," he mumbled. "Gods! I can't! I _can't tell_!"

"When ye aren't yerself?" she asked, drawing out her pipe and leaf. "I can, though it's a devil of a time gettin yer ear on the matter when it counts," she grumbled.

He listened to her small motions, so quiet, muted leather against muted leather. She was warm against him, in contrast to his chaotic spellwork. The ground was coated in frost. Tallix struck a match to light it, and puffed away to get the tobacco properly smoldering. He listened as some tears dried and others formed. "How?" he requested quietly.

She took in a draw of smoke and let it out slowly, leaning slightly back into him. "Well, it does ye no good ta hear that ye go ruthless, tunnel-blinded, and damned senseless; on account of the fact ye've no way of tellin that apart from bein angry and paranoid for valid reasons." There was a sharp edge to her voice, and he winced. She sniffed thoughtfully, thinking about the question. "The Gorion I know," she mused slowly, "doesn't panic. Even when things are _bad_. He holds his cool and acts logically and fast, ta the point where people who don't know him well enough presume he's just _cold_."

The aasimar stayed where he was, swallowing past hard lumps. "Doesn't panic," he repeated. "I panicked. I saw a reminder of everything and I _panicked_." The word weighed on him, but she kept petting over his hair and shoulder. "Tallix... Am I mad?" he asked her quietly, not daring to look back.

The questioned seemed to disarm her, for his halfling laughed. "Ye think we don't all have our demons? Ye had a god stalkin ye. If that didn't unhinge ye, I'd be worried." His fingers tightened reflexively on the ground. "Ye ain't see one of those since back before were were close, and ye know exactly what Iv'e been. Those puzzle pieces line up damn easy in a mind, whether they're cut fer each other or not"

He choked out a bemused moan. "How are you able to tell me I'm crazy and yet somehow sooth my churning stomach and pounding heart all in the same breath?"

"Scary known are significantly less upsettin than scary unknowns," she decided "When ye've got a hand behind a viper's head, ye can manage it's bite a wee bit better." He wormed and twisted about to look at her, feeling tired, sick, and weak after such an outpouring. After a moment, he reached weakly back to brush his knuckles against her pant leg, arm, and armor. He needed the physical reminder of her existence, tactile proof that she wasn't some phantom or imaginary construct. She seemed to understand, touching his hand gently and then chafing over his arm. "Ri..." She let out a puff of smoke, and then eyed him seriously. "Ye sure ye dinnae want ta geas me?"

He looked away. "I can't. I need you to have complete free will," he said.

She tilted her head to the side. "Why?"

"Because those are the only circumstances under which your loyalty means anything."

She snorted and looked down to tap her pipe lightly against an ice crystal and redistribute the ashes. "That's silly talk. Knight's make vows, lad. It ain't like ye'd be forcin me into it; I'm volunteering."

He grimaced, fumbling through explanations. "Perhaps I don't really believe you couldn't shirk a geas, and so it would do nothing for my security. Perhaps I take comfort in these conversations, and would be left bereft if you tried to convince me of your innocence each time with the canned 'I'm geased.' Perhaps I merely want to exercise your capacity to do the right thing, as opposed to making choices easy for you through an artificial compulsion." He rubbed his face. "Or perhaps I am morally opposed to casting a geas on someone I desperately need to believe has genuine affection for me."

Tallix glanced down at him again. "Lad, ye'd just be tying up a difficult loose end that's hard to rest yer brain about otherwise."

"That would be true, if I were thinking_ logically," _he blurted in a rush, lifting a hand to cover his face and then touching gingerly at his bloodied nose. "But I have been to places where logic and convictions blend into soup and fail to serve a man by pointing in any direction, and the only thing which led me out again was blind faith. You are, by the way, one of those places."

Tallix shifted uncomfortably, because she was, and she knew it, wrapped up in his head with the issue of Lullorin.

"So a geas does nothing to settle my nerves. All I have by which to understand you- all I've ever had since you showed up peddling gnomish turnips in Waterdeep- is my faith. Blindly, and with complete vulnerability, because you've never made sense."

Tallix reached out and mussed through his hair. He looked up at her. "Deep down, lad, what do ye believe? D'ya believe I'll help Bhaal?"

He swallowed. "No."

She raised a brow. "Why?"

"Because he doesn't mean anything to you," Gorion told her.

"And how da ye know that?" She half-turned towards him and fixed him with a stern expression. "Perhaps I'm his most fervent follower and both me younger ones are Bhaalspawn. Perhaps everything ye know about me's a lie and I've got no kids at all, and just trained one ta play the part." His eyes widened slightly, but Tallix pulled no punches whatsoever in handling him: "Perhaps everything that's happened from the beginning were all in Bhaal's plan ta get Aegis ta the top of the food chain in the Bhaalspawn crisis, and then boil her soul to nothin as he takes her place"

Gorion scrambled for purchase on the ice and then both roughly and shakily pushed himself up to a sitting position. Tallix blinked, and then arched to lift her head as the wizard's mouth violently stole possession of hers. He grabbed tightly hold of her, dragging her into him, owning her.

Tallix seized his shoulder and pushed him back an inch. Her green eye was stern. "How many times did ye fuck with that blonde-haired doppelgangar? How many mornings did ye laugh together? How many evenings did ye lie together and talk about morality, or the future, or gods?"

He cringed, trying to pull her to him. "Tallix-!"

She kept him there, her fingers tight on his cowl. "_Remember_, lad, how long, how cleverly, how _well_ he planned that seduction. And remember he did it for a reason: to induce a mental breakdown. Ta weaken ye. Remember _why_! remember that he picked ye ta counteract the ambitions of his own high priestess. That he broke ye, on purpose, but there was a _reason. _Because he couldn't be everywhere. He wasn't all-powerful. He was waiting for a perfect pawn, and he got leverage on you, and you were in the right place at the right time for what he needed."

"-Why-!?" he protested his lecture.

"_Listen_ to me, _boy_! When ye are scared- whenever ye dinnae know what to believe in!- ye dinnae have to hinge everything on a person. What he did ta ye made ye feel helpless, but ye _weren't_. Ye got out from under his thumb. Ye evaded a _god_. And twere a fragment of yer own soul- Chai- which figured out the riddle of how he'd done it! Oghma couldn't have reached ye, if Chai and ye hadn't figured the puzzle out first. All he did was help ye get back on yer feet and keep tryin! All he did was show you there were still summat ta live for once she'd died!"  
The aasimar's lower jaw drooped, and he stared at her in horrified wonder, his eyes wide and his fingers tight on her shoulders.

"Dinnae put everythin on _me!_" she protested. "What if summat happens ta me? Hells, what if I done been geased by someone else? What if I were impersonated by a shapechanger? If Bhaal himself were alive, he could do it! Are ye gonna trust whatever comes out of me mouth, without using yer sense?

"Ye are are a wizard lad- and a cleric ta boot!- and ye've the brilliance ta dig yerself into and _out_ of some of Faerun's most terrifyingly complex holes. Yer brilliance is yer tool, not blind faith! Look for motives, and means. Tie up loose ends! Ye did not keep Aegis hidden and safe and untainted for twenty bloody years by blind faith! Ye did it by being an anally retentive perfectionist who patiently circumscribed and closed up every problem, every gap, every weakness, every adversary ye could find. And I bet if ye racked yer brain through with a garden rake, ye could even figure out how anyone managed to find her in Candlekeep. Most likely, ye know whomever was responsible. Most likely, ye even know the man who ran ye through."

He was struck mute by her; he hadn't even the verbal capacity to stammer.

"And that's another thing: By all the gods, lad, if ye _need_ ta have faith in me, dinnae give yerself all these unknowns by which ta question said faith when things look bleak. How can I diffuse you? I ain't got the words for it! My track record be iffy enough as-is without leavin yer sensitivities wide open. Place the geas as best ye know how, and close up ninety percent of all problem possibilities ye can foresee. And investigate what ye know about me! Do I really. got three wee ones, do I have a family, what would they say about my convictions if ye were able ta ask em? Am I real? These are questions ye can find evidence for! Evidence is how ye establish yer control of a situation!"

"Ye are not powerless. Ye are not helpless. Ye dinnae have ta put everything ya have into one hope. I will help ye take care of yerself, but I will not hold this show up alone, and I will nae sit idly by while ye teach yerself impotency, and hinge yer entire sanity onto irrational belief in the infallibility of one very flawed and mortal person! Even gods should not get by so unquestioned!"

Gorion was quiet in staring at her. Tallix considered whether she had any more words to share, and eyeballed him. She waited as if for some kind of confirmation or acknowledgement that he understood, but when none came she slowly released his cowl. He continued to watch her for a long moment. Then his gaze lowered, and he reached quietly up to grasp one of her hands and draw it up for his assessment.

The halfling winced slightly, and glanced down to see her only ungloved fingers, the fore, middle, and thumb, were raw and blistered.

"I've hurt you," the aasimar realized quietly.

"Ye were trying ta, remember," she reminded him. "A fool with a crossbow can pin me once in a blue moon, and yer an archwizard I've no situational advantage over. Ye'd have ta be daft ta think yer so powerless as ta be unable ta _touch_ me."

He set to unbuckling her glove.

She grimaced. "I'll be fine if I sip on a potion, lad."

"Let me see," he requested. "So that the next time I panic, I remember what I'm risking."

She watched his face as he unclasped the glove along the forearm and wrist, and then gingerly eased the glove off. Her forearms were bathed in the raw red and yellow of shallow frostbite, and bruises were forming where ice had torn small veins from the inside. His lips pressed together and his brows furrowed in dismay. She swallowed at the sight of his concern, and then slowly lifted her free hand to dab blood from his cheek.

Her wizard looked up at her. After a moment, he reached forward and tried to tug and coax her into his lap.

She scowled. "Ye realize we're sittin a bloody hundred paces away from that circle... and if the lich wanders in after all that screaming, while you're being too sentimental to disrupt it, I'm gonna nag yer ear off."

"Yes," he said simply, and somehow that was enough for her. She ended up in his lap, with his embrace folded around her as he fussed over her injured hands.

"It's fine," she muttered.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "And you are _right._ About..." He rested his chin against her temple as he felt about for a healing potion. "I need a little longer to process everything you just said. I'm... still stunned. Grateful for having you, and stunned."

"Well, least yer brain reactivated," she muttered, scootching to find a comfortable place to sit on his thigh, and straining her ears for any sound of encroaching monsters.

He turned his face briefly into her hair, and then lifted it again and opened the potion.

...

* * *

[Author's Note]

Nothing to see here, just having a breakdown in the middle of a dungeon...!


	30. The Morning Before the Birthday Party

**_The Morning Before the Party_**

...

* * *

It was morning. Imoen had been up no more than sixty seconds before she'd somehow managed to pull on her tunic, belt her pants, hop one foot at a time towards the door while tugging her boots on, and catapult down the stairs. She was out the door and on her way to the pigeon aerie by the time Edwin managed to drag himself to a seated position on the edge of the bed. He rubbed his face, yawned, and then peered blearily after his vanished thief.

It took a moment for actual thoughts to assemble themselves, which might have been alarming if he were not so comfortable. _Do I somehow transfer all my energy to you, as opposed to simply losing it to exertion? _The queer Monkey had squeaked something about her mail, if he'd heard her correctly while half unconscious. After a moment, Edwin stood and shuffled over to relieve himself. _Not that 'mail' warrants such enthusiasm, much less before the sun is even properly over the horizon._

The air was cool. Still tired, he went to pour himself a basin of water to wash with. The sound of trickling water was distinct and loud in the quiet of dawn. He set the pitcher back down, and leaned over to splash his face and rub sleep from his eyes. He could feel the prickle of untrimmed facial hair at his jawline, and glanced up at himself in the room's modest vanity mirror. He brushed at the stubble of hair growing across his scalp which partially occluded the tattoos there. _Ah_. That was right, he'd made a deal with the irrepressible Monkey to regrow it. Speaking of which, he most probably owed Jaheira gold._ Best to settle that account today._

Edwin turned his head to the side to reach for a shaving razor that he might groom his beard. He paused, and his gaze darted back to the mirror.

What had that little barbarian done to his throat?! Startled, his first reaction was to jerk backwards in acute _revulsion_. Then, after a moment's bewilderment, he leaned curiously in to inspect himself. Bruises? Bites! He touched at them gingerly, but found they were not painful.

_Gah!_ He had not realized what she was doing! Or, did he mind? He'd been _marked_ by a woman's _kisses_! That was... er... _new? _Edwin inspected himself with bemused dismay. His high collar would cover most of the marks, and his hood should hide the rest. Or, ought he sip upon a potion, and circumvent the potential for embarrassment all-together? None of the others had yet commented, though, and surely Imoen had not left them all in one night...?

He'd woken up that morning with a woman in his bed, entwined with him, and she'd belonged there. She'd _volunteered_. No, not just 'a woman.' He'd woken up entangled with _Imoen_. Feather beds had been a good idea.

Edwin rested his palms against the table, and stared uncertainly at his reflection. Largely Mulani features stared back at him.

_What happens when I return to Thay?_

His reflection informed him that Imoen's birthday was an unabashedly terrible time to bring up such questions.

...

* * *

Imoen was at the main table with a pile of envelopes and packages when Edwin finished bathing and came down for breakfast. She was opening them one at a time, greedily reading every word she'd been sent. Edwin raised a brow at her, and then came over to sit beside a frowning Aegis and a nervous looking Xan. He lowered his voice and was just about to scold them when a great interruption occurred:

"Minsc has forgotten to buy Little Imoen a Surprise Present!" the ranger announced with great thunder as he charged blindly into the room, covered in flour.

Xan nearly had a heart attack. Branwen slapped a hand over her face. Aegis winced. Jaheira sighed and Khalid looked dismayed.

Minsc? I want a hamster!" Imoen demanded.

The large ranger nearly jumped out of his skin. He looked from Aegis to Imoen once, then twice. Then he winced in smiling embarrassment, closed his eyes, and rubbed bashfully at the back of his head. "Oh... That is very sweet of little Imoen but, eh, Boo is... not for gifting!"

"Oh I didn't mean Boo!" Imoen exclaimed, and reached out to pat his arm reassuringly as he approached her table. "Just any hamster. Or maybe I should wait till after all this?"

Edwin glanced over at the girl in bemusement and then shook his head and set to eating his breakfast. Branwen chuckled. Despite what Xan might have hoped about Minsc serving as a Red Wizard-deterrent, it seemed Edwin did not find the Rashemi ranger's masculinity to be threatening, and in fact was quite happy to let the two socialize.

"Aha! I see!" Minsc laughed. "Well in that case, Boo and Minsc will be glad to help you! Only not all hamsters are so clever as Boo, so he says you will probably need a cute little cage. And he recommend a squeaky wheel- we've heard nothing but good things about squeaky wheels..."

"Aww! Hey, you know what?" Imoen realized, straightening. "Maybe I really could buy myself a hamster. I probably need a small pet to train as a familiar."

Minsc brightened. "Imoen wishes to have a hamster now?" he thought, and then his face brightened. "Would that make a good birthday present?"

"Wow are you kidding? That would be a _great_ birthday present!" Imoen cooed.

"What!?" Edwin blurted, sitting up rapidly. "No you will not! A hamster for a familiar!? Pfeh! That would be an absurd choice."

Imoen glanced back at him; she was pretty sure Edwin ought to have recently learned a lesson about levying prohibitions on her. "Who says?" she grinned.

"Your mentor," the wizard informed her. "_I_ will be the one to help you select a familiar."

"Okay now I'm definitely getting a hamster."

Her Red Wizard looked surprisingly upset. "Imoen," he growled.

But his attempts to reign her in continued to have the opposite effect. "Oh no, I'm falling more in love with hamsters every second!" she dramaticized. "Now I'll never be able to accept any other kind of familiar! I'll even need one that looks just like Boo!"

Edwin scowled, but it seemed he had picked up on his error. Rather than pressing the argument, he sat back sulkily in his seat as if considering how to approach the situation from a better angle. Imoen grinned victoriously after the wizard, and figured she'd talk to Edwin later about whatever had gotten him all huffy. After all, he'd just displayed the good sense to withdraw from a losing argument, and that deserved some kind of reward.

Imoen looked at Minsc. "Okay, I'd totally lose a hamster," she admitted. "But, say, didn't I see you knitting a scarf lately?"

...

* * *

Edwin sighed and leaned over to glare at Aegis and Xan as Minsc eventually reentered the kitchen. "Please explain to me how we ended up turning to _Fools and Madmen Incorporated _when sourcing our edibles?"

Aegis ' uneasy expression did nothing to comfort him however, particularly as the ranger was so rarely uneasy about anything. She looked as if she were presently more prepared for a ghoul invasion than for whatever else might come out of that kitchen.

"Well," Aegis gulped, "Xan monitored them, Jaheira will double check it when it's done, and Khalid found a modest backup in case everything goes to hell?"

Edwin scoffed. "Whatever outer plane your paramour affiliates with, I can assure you it is _not_ the hells."

Aegis glanced at Edwin. "The Abyss?"

The conjurer's gaze flicked up to her as if surprised. He pursed his lips slightly, as if thinking. "Try again."

Aegis eyes narrowed thoughtfully, recognizing the insult had turned into a game. She racked her mind. "Hades?"

"Not quite."

She tried to think.

He crossed his arms and leaned back from his breakfast, considering this. "Mn. I suppose being able to recall the names of three distinct Outer Planes, much less select the Abyss as opposed to the Hells, is a feat for a woman who waggles melee weapons in the air and talks to animals." He tapped his nails on the edge of his plate. "Still, this should highlight how woefully undereducated you are on topics which really ought to concern you." He inspected her. "Not Hades; But the Styx does flow through it."

"Gehenna," Aegis said, and looked down excitedly to see if she was right.

"Ah..." he smirked as if almost impressed. "There it is."

Aegis felt strangely delighted, as if she'd just received full marks on a particularly stringent history test._ Well, this settles it: Asshole wizards are indisputably better with a dash of Pink._

"Ulraunt sent a letter," Imoen suddenly interrupted them, sounding estranged.

Edwin's attention riveted on her, and Aegis twisted about in her chair to blink incredulously at her sister. The latter's expression turned a little sardonic as she realized her sister was not joking. _Speaking of asshole wizards..._

"Oh did he?" Aegis inquired as Xan tuned in to the realization something significant had just happened. "I'm going to go out on a limb and guess his birthday wishes are as friendly as the rest of him?"

Imoen opened the letter slowly, as if she was worried it might be poisoned. When it turned out to be quite a thick letter, she skimmed the first page. "Uh, well. He says we are to cease and desist with our usage of the misnomer 'of Candlekeep,' as it creates the erroneous impression we are endorsed by the library."

"Oh that's lovely," Aegis drawled. "Revoking our hometown from our names on a birthday."

"Who is 'Ulraunt?' Ajantis asked curiously as he joined them for breakfast with a sleepy and mild-mannered Viconia in tow. Kivan glanced up at the drow as she passed but, to Aegis' surprise, it seemed he was almost angrier with Coran these days than with Viconia herself.

"Well," Aegis thought to answer the paladin, "Add Xan's ability to relax to Edwin's warm-hearted fluffiness, and you'll get Ulraunt." and Edwin snorted as if taking offense to the comparison. "He's the archmagus in charge of Candlekeep."

"Ah," Ajantis understood. He glanced at Imoen pityingly, and then lifted a hand and made a gesture at Viconia which apparently only Khalid noticed. The half-elf straightened upon the realization that he was looking at drow sign language. Ajantis looked to be asking something like: 'Do you want a drink?' Viconia signed back a 'No' and then added signage to the effect of lifting his thumb higher.

Imoen was still reading. "Ulraunt says Candlekeep does endorse select mages, clerics, and other scholars, but the process for that involves the composition and peer review of a significant contribution to Knowledge. He's included the formatting guidelines for our reference."

"Ah." Aegis leaned back in her chair and slurped her coffee, too amused by Ulraunt's social ineptitude to be truly embittered by this latest tirade from their wretched Keeper of Tomes. "How thoughtful of him."

Imoen straightened a little. "He says it has come to his attention that I may have picked up the study of magic, so he would like to point out the little known rule that any student who has lived at Candlekeep for at least five years is entitled to earn the library's endorsement through the submission of a work demonstrating a graduate apprentice's level of proficiency."

Edwin's gaze jerked up. Then he snarled in open disbelief and revulsion, and leaned forward in his chair. "This man would think to extort anything at all from you- much less a dissertation!- over a _name_!?"

Imoen swallowed, her attention glued to the letter. "He says that if I earn the endorsement, he would also extend to me the gift of Right of Abode at Candlekeep. As a kindness to my father."

A disturbed quiet settled over the collected party members. Viconia alone was either too content or too callous to care.

"That..." Imoen hesitated. "That would mean I would get to go home without a book, whenever I want, right? Just like Gorion could?"

Aegis hesitated. "Uh, well," she reflected after a moment, offended Ulraunt would pull this on her sister's birthday. "Color me surprised that I can actually identify why he'd presume to mistake this for a 'gift.'" _What a mood dampener. And the party hasn't even started yet!_

"Yeah..." Imoen murmured almost sadly.

Edwin sat back hard in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, his lips pressed tight together and a heated glare on his face. Though he didn't immediately say anything else, the expression on his face suggested that he was positively fuming. Badly enough that Branwen leaned over to ask Xan: "Why's_ he_ so mad about a paper?"

"Ah," the elf cleared his throat to elucidate: "There is a certain etiquette to these things. Firstly, is always bad form to fiddle with another wizard's apprentice; so, the proper way to approach any novice mage is to first make inquiry after the identity of their master and then, if they have one, to treat with the master instead of with the apprentice."

"And secondly," Xzar piped up unexpectedly as he rejoined the group and tapped lightly upon Aegis' shoulder, "a mage's spellcraft is very personal to him or herself. It is not something we easily _share_. For an outside wizard to demand access to Sister's work in exchange for something so artificially withheld... well it goes beyond the word 'rude.' Invasive, even.'" He glanced over at Branwen. "And we are both saying this as people who think Edwin is a terrible teacher, so that should say something."

Aegis blinked up at Xzar, wondered about whether Minsc was the only one supervising the baking cake, and then put the thought temporarily out of mind as she glanced hesitantly down at their Red Wizard. 'Master' was not a word she'd really heard Edwin use to refer to himself. 'Tutor' and 'Mentor' were both more common. Was that why Edwin hadn't simply exploded in a storm of bluster? Because he was trying to respect his nontraditional relationship with Imoen?

The Thayvian finally took in a slow breath to speak, and seemed to measure his words very deliberately. "May I have the pleasure of writing back to this overstuffed fool?" he ground out, "and, if so, am I entitled to weave an arcane trap into it, or must I settle for merely scalding him with my temper?"

"It..." Jaheira hesitated before forging slowly onward, "It is not easy to secure passage into Candlekeep, even once. It requires a tome of tremendous value be donated to the library. In all Aegis' years, Khalid and I never managed it. So, to be able to come and go as one pleases..." Khalid might have agreed if he had not been so distracted in watching a sign language lesson which was going on across the table.

Edwin glanced at the druid, frowned, and then looked warily back at Imoen. "The only written words he deserves from her are a well-scribed Explosive Runes," he growled. But Imoen, it seemed, was giving great thought to the matter; seeing that, Edwin wasn't sure what to say.

Xan straightened, blinked rapidly, and then stood and came over beside her. "Imoen, I may be mistaken, but it appears to me that not only are you are_ surrounded_ by an_ unreasonably large pile_ of unopened letters and brown paper packages, but that it also appears to be your_ birthday_."

Imoen blinked down at her packages as Xan plucked Ulraunt's offending letter from her fingertips. "Oh yeah!" Her face lightened a little.

"Yes, well," the enchanter sniffed, folding away the letter for perusal at a less celebratory time. "Perhaps you should attend to said presents, lest they run off on you. The gods only know what foodstuffs, bowstaffs, or kittens might be secreted within."

Xan was rewarded with more than one expression of relief from his party members, one of which, however begrudgingly, came from Edwin. The elf was just about to sit down when Imoen lunged forward for a letter.

"That's the Blackstaff Sigil!" she squealed abruptly, which immediately recaptured nearly everyone's attention. "He remembered my birthday!?"

...

* * *

"_Dear Imoen," _the pink girl read aloud of Khelben Blackstaff Aurunsun's letter,

"_My divinations tell me you were kidnapped recently, and though I'm sure you've no need for reminders, I'm afraid I must beseech you tolerate an old man his expressions of relief to find that you made it safely back to your party. More than that, it seems your mentor has finally come to his senses and elected to resume tutoring you himself, which I think we can all agree was the best possible turn of events. Do wish him well; It is hardly every day I get to experience amiable correspondences with Mulani wizards; much less noblemen from bloodlines as old as House Odesseiron."_

A number of brows raised, and Edwin himself huffed in surprise; he'd been in the Heartlands so long that he'd apparently grown used to going unrespected and unrecognized.

_"On that topic, I hope that your studies are going well. Though I shall think I'll never understand how you young people manage: It is my experience that good books can be a trial to first obtain and secondly haul about whilst on the road. I was thinking of you and Aegis- and of Gorion, actually- as I roved the library the other day, and it seems I accidentally ended up piecing together what I presume I should call 'A Distracted Magus' Woeful Misconception of What an Accelerated Study Accompaniment for the Adventuring Apprentice Might Look Like.'_

_"And now that I've assembled it, I suppose I simply must mail it to you. However, I could in no way be certain whether you and your mentor would find it a useful supplement for your education. So, rather than risk wasting the book entirely, I made sure to include fancy border illuminations from a book of fables so there are at least plenty of entertaining pictures in the margins for your enjoyment on rainy afternoons."_

More brows raised, and nearly everyone shared amused or bewildered glances as Imoen plucked through the brown paper packages to find two marked with the Blackstaff seal.

_"I have included it with this letter; It is the larger of the two packages, which you may open now. The smaller one is your birthday present, which you are not permitted to open your present until such time as the actual birthday party commences, whenever that may be."_

"Good gods," Edwin muttered, amused. "It's almost as if he knows you."

_"It was an item Gorion left in my possession," _Imoen continued to read excitedly as Aegis leaned forward, _"which I am certain he would have wanted to see given to you two girls. Jaheira and Khalid should be able to identify it on your behalf. Please tell Aegis my thoughts are with both of you, and that I regret the circumstances which keep me in Waterdeep at this time. Sincerely, Khelben."_

"He used just his first name?" Xan asked, impressed, as Imoen began shredding the wrapping paper of her new book.

"Gorion was always close to his mentor," Jaheira admitted with a grimace, for Aegis had not forgotten she seemed to dislike Khelben.

Imoen perked up from her tattered wrapping paper and glanced between herself and Edwin before looking at Jaheira again. "_How_ close...?" she asked with suspicious amusement.

"No!" Aegis shouted, and nearly sent people tumbling out of their seats. "Just because our parents are single men who raised us as sisters does not necessitate that one of them must be our mother!"

"But would it be the one who wears a frilly _apron_ or the one who wears a _dress_!? Imoen demanded ferociously.

"_Well_," Jaheira drawled in a _terrifyingly_ amused way that suggested she was about to provide testimony either one way or another, and Khalid put both of his hands over his mouth as if holding in giggles.

"Silence!" Aegis slapped her hands over her own ears, which had already been traumatized once by learning about Gorion and Jaheira. "Lalalala! We are not discussing my father's sexuality! He was always old and never young like me! Lalalala!"

...

* * *

Tallix Snapdragon slowly blinked awake. She took stock of the knife lying just in front of her, wrapped in a handkerchief and just touching the wizard's fingers. He didn't want to make physical contact with it; but that didn't mean she could simply offer to put it away someplace safe. She rubbed her face and yawned, and then tilted her head back to look up at where the aasimar was curled protectively around her.

An adventurer would be hard pressed to find a guidebook on their profession that advised traveling all the way to the Lair of Evil, disrupting the Bad Guy's Secret Special Power Source, and then slinking away into a corner somewhere and taking a mental health break for twelve hours or so instead of pressing the element of surprise on the enemy.

Which probably suggested that most people writing adventuring books were middle aged fighter retirees who had gotten lucky and gotten wise, and so settled down before anything particularly exciting could befall them. Because really old hats (especially wizards) would have mentioned no one in the adventuring profession was ever sane by the end, and that the secret to longevity was learning that the resolution of personal issues couldn't wait for all the fighting to be over.

Might that Midnight and Kelemvor had paid more attention to Cyric, and perhaps then there'd have been no Prince of Lies at all. Powerful people always went crazy hardest.

Well, it looked like Gorion really was sleeping. Thank his Oghma for that; She'd not wake him. Instead, she rolled carefully towards him, slipped an arm over his ribs and a leg over his hip (well, waist, he was bloody tall) so that they could still fit snugly with one another, and then promptly went back to sleep.

...

* * *

"Well fascinating as this topic is," Edwin muttered and waved Imoen over so he could inspect the book she'd just unwrapped. "Let's see what you've-" Imoen did indeed hurry over to Edwin, but seeing a lack of chair immediately beside him, she elected instead to plop down upon his lap. "Oof! What-? Excuse me, child, what is _this_? You weigh as much as a cow."

"Oh yeah, I should mention you've lost the right to refer to me as 'child!'" Imoen informed him brightly, stuffing their new book into his hands. "Look look look! The binding's new."

Edwin grumbled something about cupcakes and dignity from where a very presumptuous person had gone and sat upon him, but one glance at the open book had him reaching forward to take an inspect it. "Hnh," he grunted. "This was pieced together with magic. Yes, the text and images were reappropriated and made to flow smoothly over fresh paper, but they are written in different hands. Hnr. _This_ one is more respectful in meddling," he remarked. "Flatters me superfluously, and sends a book he's cobbled together not from his own work but from a thousand other tomes."

"And there are pictures!" the pink thief squealed happily, because indeed Khelben had transferred colored images into the margins.

"Yes. Which appear to feature... tiny animals wearing suits."

She blinked and leaned close to verify if this was true. "Dear sweet Oghma, you're right." She looked up at him, impressed. "Edwin if you ever abandon me again, I'm going to Waterdeep."

The Red Wizard immediately scowled up at her. "Whaaatt?" Imoen grinned and kissed him swiftly, right in front of everyone, which was something that had not at all happened before. Xan grimaced. Viconia raised a brow. Edwin scowled more. "Well I have to start my hostile takeover of the criminal world somewhere!" she protested. "What do you think the odds are he'll figure out he has to bribe me with cake and wine to get me to study? Miniscule, I tell you! Miniscule!"

Edwin frowned at her, tight-lipped. Then he straightened to kiss her again. And again. _No one is going anywhere._ She tugged gently on his shoulder, and her back arched slightly.

"_Okay_," interrupted Aegis, whose voice immediately startled the two into separating in embarrassment. "Xzar and I don't do that in front of _you_." Edwin was blushing slightly as Imoen laughed off the issue and hopped back over to investigate the rest of her presents. Ranger and necromancer shared a bemused look, and then Xzar leaned over to say whatever it is he'd come out for.

...

* * *

Imoen still had a tremendous amount of mail to get through, which gave the party time to eat their breakfast and organize themselves. It certainly provided an excellent cover for the matter of the Emergency Cake, which Xzar reported had just come out of the oven and would be ready for icing once it had cooled down. Xan was called upon to oversee the matter of the icing creation, then, lest it should accidentally contract any hobgoblin spleens or large slabs of moose meat.

Shar-Teel came downstairs last, as was her habit.

As Khalid watched, Viconia gestured quietly to the fightress, and then supplied Ajantis with a signed name for the woman which included a signal for a proper noun and then a feminine word for fighter. Ajantis repeated the gesture, and then laughed quietly when Viconia scowled at him and reached over to rearrange all of his fingers.

"Morning," Shar-Teel grumbled sleepily. The fightress was carrying something behind her, and when she walked past Imoen she coughed and casually bumped a box onto the table. Imoen, who had been too distracted by her letters to determine whether or not her sister had a surprise birthday party planned, squealed and hugged the package.

"Essss-Teeeee-oooodless! _Yes_! I knew no one had forgotten! I_ knew_ Aegy would have told everyone!" the pink thief warbled. Everyone else glared at Shar-Teel It was hardly ten in the morning, and everyone was already giving away the surprise element!

The fightress shrugged and gave a big grin. "Well, if you idiots really want her to open a gift from _me_ in front of all of yas, be my guest and tell her to wait instead of letting her go run off upstairs now. Paladin might have a heart attack, though, since it's not the kind of sword he's used to getting. Now the elf, on the other hand..."

Branwen glanced up, brow furrowed. She and Aegis did not immediately understand, but Jaheira and Khalid both turned funny colors, Kivan growled, Imoen tensed up, and Viconia chuckled. Edwin took a moment to realize what had been said (the equivalent expression in Thay involved wands, not swords) and then looked up in swift alarm to see Shar-Teel leering at him.

"Should help her survive mounting a one-trick pony whose only noteworthy balls are the sort he flings at the enemy," the fightress added with a cougar's grin.

Edwin made a disgusted, inarticulate snarl of protest in the back of his throat that sounded equal parts enraged and violated. Viconia grinned past her food and couldn't help but add: "Yes, that must be _awful_. Is it too late for me to gift linseed oil for the chafing?"

Aegis turned funny-colored to match her auntie and uncle. Branwen was unimpressed and suddenly glad that Xan had left the room to oversee frosting preparations. Kivan sighed. Imoen rapidly searched for a comeback. Edwin's nails stabbed into the table.

Ajantis leaned forward and looked up at Shar-Teel with a boyish sweetness which no man raised outside of a church could possibly have replicated with such authenticity. "Do those come in only _swords_," he asked, the wide-eyed innocence of his expression belying how long he'd lived in the company of Shar-Teel Dosan and Viconia DeVir, "or can one alternatively purchase _sheathes_?"

Shar-Teel whipped around to stare at him. Then she looked at Viconia, who had slapped a hand over her own mouth was nearly tearing up at the eyes to repress hearty guffaws of laughter. Imoen was not so discrete, falling back in her chair and laughing hysterically with one finger pointed out wordlessly towards the paladin as the source of her mirth. Viconia broke down laughing moments afterward, and Branwen and even Jaheira couldn't help but join in; Watching an idealistic, eighteen-year-old knight squire learn to get the better of anyone as terrifying as Shar-Teel was somehow indescribably endearing.

...

* * *

When Shar-Teel stomped back out of the room a in a fit of clenched-jawed anger, Aegis (who was trying very hard not to laugh) was astonished at her favorite manic fightress' restraint.

Edwin- who had been somewhat shocked through the whole experience- broke out with a startled laugh. Then, as he'd laughed once, he laughed again, and then continued to laugh and lifted a hand up to cover up his face. Aegis thought she heard him cackle something about 'the Amnite can stay' past his hand.

"Oh boy," Aegis gave an amused but dramatic sigh. "Why are fools upsetting my rampaging tarasque? I hope you've all worked out plans for how you're going to make this up to her!" For Shar-Teel to hold back from attacking anyone in an indignant rage suggested she was either maturing (sadly doubtful) or else perhaps more upset than anyone realized. After all, she'd just been mocked both in front of and by her immediate circle of friends.

Ajantis, who looked smug and happy, slowly rose from his chair. "I'll go apologize and solicit a few punches on everyone's behalf," he told them.

Imoen was wheezing. "Be careful she doesn't _shiv_ you!" she cackled. "You can't be that mean to her, 'Jantis! Her feelings are _delicate_!" Well! At least Aegis wasn't the only one who'd noticed Shar-Teel was more complicated than she often wanted to let on.

"_Her_ feelings!?" Edwin squawked indignantly, looking up from his hands.

"Hey, hey let me talk to her first!" Imoen suggested as Ajantis headed towards the door. The paladin slowed as the rogue hopped to her feet.

"I'd rather she not take her anger out on you," Ajantis protested.

"She won't; She doesn't fight girls," Imoen chuckled, rounding her chair and coming up to him. "S'okay, I roomed with Shar-Teel while Edwin was gone, remember? We spent a lot of extra-curricular time together. I'm used to chatting with her!"

"Well..." the paladin hesitated. "How about I at least accompany you? I'm presuming she'll go take out her anger on some practice targets."

Imoen giggled and looped her arm with his. "Very well! You may escort me, good squire!"

Aegis glanced at Edwin because she instinctively knew what she'd see: Sure enough, the wizard bristled immediately, and watched Ajantis' back with confused suspicion as he and Imoen headed out. Aegis shook her head and leaned over, gently elbowing the Red Wizard. He scowled at her in surprise and asked a terse, "What?" as he was clearly displeased with this invasion of his personal space.

"Eat your breakfast," she told him. "You're the only male wizard in this party who manages to maintain a healthy weight."

"_Excuse_ me!?"

"That harmless flirt," Aegis tossed her chin towards the door, "is disgustingly in love with you. Now eat your breakfast; if scrawny lightweights were her thing, she'd have gone for Xan from the start."

...

* * *

Having Imoen out of the tavern allowed the party to have super-important-secret-birthday-meetings in the meantime. They concluded that even with the unexpected baker illness, everything was still _perfectly_ on time for their midday surprise party. Jaheira went to analyze the half-finished cake and the fools who were decorating it. Edwin, who was still a little flustered, went to join her, apparently with the intention that they might scowl in solidarity with one another.

Aegis wondered whether Shar-Teel or Ajantis might actually be clever enough to keep Imoen out at the training arena until the party. Kivan, who up until that moment had possessed no talents to contribute to the preparation period whatsoever, perked up.

"I can do that," he told them. Aegis glanced back at him. "She has been asking me for archery lessons. I can keep her there for two hours. "

"Oh that would be _great_," Aegis sighed, relieved. "You'll do that?" He nodded. "_Perfect_. We can get everything out and ready, then."

Viconia sighed and made to stand. "I should probably ensure the lovely Shar-Teel has not eaten my Helmite."

"Come, then," Kivan muttered as he stood. "We need no more trouble with Vai."

Aegis and Vicona shared a startled look, and then looked after Kivan's back as he headed for the door.

"Well?" he growled, as if irritated.

Warily, and with another glance at Aegis to make sure her leader was not sending any cautionary signals, Viconia followed.

"Oh dear," Khalid murmured nervously. "D-did they _bond_ or such on their trip out t-together?"

"I have no idea," Aegis answered slowly. "But the lack of homicidal glares makes me happy."

...

* * *

"You haven't mentioned the half-ogre to Xan, have you?" Viconia asked once they were some distance from the inn.

Kivan didn't answer.

She glanced up at the wild-elf, _far_ up. Her liaisons over the past few nights with Coran, who was tall and broad shouldered, had led her to forget how big Kivan was; the difference between him and herself was as dramatic as the difference between Branwen and Xan. _Are wild elf women equally large?_ she found herself wondering. Then again, surface elf women appeared to be _attracted_ to men who were taller than them, _Ludicrous though that is_.

Ah yes, Tazok. And Kivan's not-so-surprisingly silence. "Have you mentioned him to _anyone_?" she asked suspiciously.

"I do not want to talk about this," he muttered.

Viconia raised a brow, but as this had probably been the most civil conversation she'd had with Kivan to date, she thought to let it drop. Unfortunately, another topic occurred to her almost immediately. "When we were returning to Beregost, you called me by a strange name. You called me a 'daughter of Araushnee.' What does that expression mean?"

Kivan stopped walking, and turned to stare at her.

Viconia furrowed her brow at the realization that he did not look angry but, rather, surprised. "What?" she asked.

He continued to stare at her, wordlessly, (vexingly!), for a long moment. Then he lifted his head and looked back at his path. "I do not want to talk about that either," he said, and so continued walking.

...

* * *

Imoen and Ajantis weren't the only ones who managed to find Shar-Teel. Coran, the elf, had also somehow found his way to the training arena. He and Imoen were watching while Shar-Teel and Ajantis sparred. Shar-Teel didn't look any more angry than was usual, and was laughing and jeering at some of Ajantis' parries.

"Well," Viconia remarked such that the training partners wouldn't overhear, "I see I needn't have worried. Our lovely Shar-Teel is clearly smitten.

"Shar-_Teel_?" Coran asked in disbelief. "_No_. Preposterous. Why _hello_, Lady Panther! How are you this fine morning?"

Kivan sneered and stopped short, but Viconia sauntered up to join Imoen and Coran at the fence of the training ring. She took Imoen's opposite side, of course, and ignored the wood elf's greeting entirely, so as not to give anyone the erroneous presumption that the two of them were friends.

"Her pride has been bandaged?" Viconia asked with a purse of her lips and a glance at the thief.

"Looks so!" Imoen agreed. "Coran was chatting with her when we found her, and Ajantis managed to handle the rest."

"Hmm. I'll talk to her afterwards. Her demands for the paladin's attention are starting to look pathetic." Imoen glanced at her with amusement. "And how are _you_ doing, little bat?" the drow continued. "You've solicited an _interesting_ source of attention, lately. One might even say '_grotesque.'_"

Imoen blinked and then leered at her with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. "Edwin is mine. Mine, mine, mine, mine. And you can't have him," the thief told her sweetly, immediately ruining all potential for needling or discussion.

"Ugh. _Keep_ the lecherous pig, please," Viconia grimaced, implicitly ceding the exchange. This relationship was one she'd previously presumed she'd understood how to manipulate, but now it seemed she would have to pay a little more attention. Amusingly, it seemed Viconia's seduction 'advice' had ended up absorbed by the opposite party, but that was even more fitting. Aegis had need of a spellcasting strongarm, and this tactic would keep the overambitious male in line behind them until his usefulness was expended.

...

* * *

When Shar-Teel was exhausted and Ajantis had been thoroughly battered, Kivan came up and tapped gently on Imoen's shoulder before she could become distracted.

"Archery?" he asked, unshouldering his bow.

Imoen perked up excitedly. "I can have a lesson?"

"Birthday gift," the ranger suggested.

"It's the Pink Minx's birthday!?" Coran exclaimed in horror. "Why did no one tell me!? I haven't a gift!"

"Perhaps because you are hardly familiar to us," Viconia retorted coldly, and the archer pouted and shrunk a little to look mournfully 'up' at them.

Imoen laughed. "It's okay, Coran!"

"No no no! This will not do!" the wood elf proclaimed, straightening up again. "If the gift to be given is an archery lesson, then I must be the one to give it! _You've_ all had plenty of time to prepare other gifts, and I assured you I am most unabashedly the better archer."

Viconia raised a curious brow, as she'd yet to see Coran handle a bow. Imoen turned to look at the wood elf in surprise, wondering if it were possible for any man to beat the wild elf in archery. Kivan stared across (and slightly down) at his opponent in disbelief. Then he shook his head mutely and turned to start towards the archery range.

"I'm serious!" Coran protested with a cheeky grin and a slight nervousness that he would be left out of such important celebrations. "Don't you believe me? Oh come now. Look, I've brought my bow. At least give me a chance to prove I'm more than just a flamboyant loudmouth!"

"You _aren't_ a flamboyant loudmouth?" Imoen asked.

"I said _more than_," Coran reminded her with a wink.

Shar-Teel perked up from where she was drinking a whole flask of water, and then laughed. "Make it a contest!" she cheered. "Best two out of three!"

Imoen giggled. "We can _all_ go over to the range," she laughed. "What do you say, Kivan?" Viconia and Ajantis also looked interested.

Kivan looked around at all of them incredulously, marking their expectant expressions. Then he sighed heavily, and nodded.

...

* * *

Shar-Teel, Imoen, and Viconia deliberated on the rules of the archery competition. At last they decided that the best archer would be decided as a function of the following challenges:

1\. A long distance shot at two hundred paces, for accuracy.  
2\. Six quick shots at short range on small targets, accurate, in the fastest time, while drawing each arrow separately from the quivver.  
3\. Shooting thrown/moving targets.  
4\. Who could spin about and shoot a target most accurately while blindfolded.  
5\. The most creative and show-offy shot each could imagine.

The fact that Coran readily agreed to the competition was a tip to the party that they were about to watch two masters at work, and Kivan agreed a little less irritably to the rules once he saw the wood elf didn't even look remotely timid.

Imoen expected the first shot to be a bit of a boring threshold warmup, because she already knew Kivan could hit a target at two hundred paces even while looking in the wrong direction.

They watched as their wild elf took his time to aim patiently and then put an arrow in the center of his target. Coran applauded, but it took everyone else a minute to confirm that the hit had been true; two hundred paces was a ridiculous stretch of distance.

Then Coran trotted up to take his position with a grin on his face and bow in hand. The weapon, Imoen abruptly realized, was slender and asymmetrical, which was interesting. She had never previously seen any bow whose upward facing arm was longer or differently shaped than its downward facing one. Coran glanced casually at his tiny target, and then obtained, nocked, drew, and released an arrow all in one fluid motion.

Kivan perked up slightly, and looked over at his opponent. Coran's arrow hit the target, embedded with the feathers brushing Kivan's own. And Coran didn't even watch it land to confirm the hit, so sure he was that he could not missed. Instead he just winked at them all!

Coran could aim quickly. He did it as if by gut instead of by eye, and placed arrows more accurately than Kivan in a much shorter timeframe.

In the speed competition, he hit all six targets with a full second to spare in advance of the wild elf, and dipped into a flourished bow to Kivan as the latter finished his shots. Shar-Teel barked out a surprised laugh, and clapped.

"I'm impressed," Viconia admitted to a startled Imoen. "This new darthiir you've found us is exquisite."

Kivan finished and fixed the irreverent wood elf with a disbelieving expression.

By the time they got to the thrown targets, Coran was clearly having a splendid time. Kivan, after shooting a disapproving glare his way, set to bringing the targets down with methodical efficiency. But Coran, flamboyant and adorable loudmouth that he was, spun about dramatically to hit each one. At one point he even responded to Shar-Teel throwing out a second target by drawing two arrows and pinioning both of them.

The party already knew Kivan could place arrows while blindfolded. Although the competition didn't really show off either competitor's ability to do so in _combat,_ it nevertheless proved Coran had similarly good spatial orientation. Coran not only managed to perform the same feat, but actually punched Kivan's arrow through the target in the process, the shots were so nearly identical.

The fifth challenge, 'the most creative and show-offy shot each elf could imagine,' was already owed to Coran on principle. Kivan's imagination was not his most poignant attribute, and the party had again already seen his ability to fire shots mid jump and from tree branches, which was what he decided to demonstrate.

Still, if Coran was overconfident and botched his shot, everyone knew, the competition would still go to Kivan. So they watched as the wood elf first kicked off both of his boots, and then his socks. He winked at Viconia and Imoen, and then grinned at Kivan in a much friendlier fashion than the way Kivan looked back at him. Without further delay, Coran tossed his bow down, leaned over to place his hands on the grass, scooped up his bow with his _toes_, and curled his legs up over above him in a handstand. With one foot, he held the bow outstretched. With the other foot, he calmly extracted an arrow from the quiver on his back, nocked it to the bowstring, pulled back, and fired.

He hit the target dead on, and the whole of their little party gasped, clapped, and cheered for him.

Except Kivan. Kivan just glowered.

...

* * *

"Alright, in a test of long-ears, the raccoon-mask wins!" Shar-Teel laughed.

"That was fun!" Coran laughed, elbowing the stiff wild elf in a companionable fashion as the others gathered around. "I haven't met anyone who can compete with me in awhile! You're very good!"

Kivan's upper lip curled into a slight sneer.

"Do I win the right to give those lessons?" Coran asked good-naturedly. "Or should I run out and nick something pretty for the lass?"

"That was amazing!" Imoen told both elves. "I'm _never_ going to be that good...!"

"Course you will!" Coran ruffled her hair with a grin. "Just takes practice!"

Kivan stiffened and then growled out a demand: "One more shot."

Coran looked at him slyly. "You don't think you're already beat?" he asked, reaching for his bow on his shoulder.

Kivan gestured over to where the sword fighting targets are. "Can you hit one in the neck from here?"

The wood elf looked disappointed, and lowered his hand. "That's all you've got?" he asked. "Of course!"

Their wild elf lifted his brows expectantly.

Coran gave a dramatic eye roll and then a shrug and pulled his bow from his shoulder. "As you wish, friend," he agreed, and he drew his arrow and fired with deft accuracy. The arrow struck true, of course, embedding itself under the target's wooden chin. He turned an amused smile back to Kivan. "What do you think?"

Kivan gave a tight smile that did not reach the piercing stare of his eyes. Then he turned about, drew his own arrow, and pulled the string back.

He loosed the arrow. It hit the target with an explosion of wood splinters, tearing off the dummy's head and sending it flying into the air.

Coran pulled back an inch in surprise, and most of everyone went quiet. Kivan fixed the wood elf with another tight, grimacing smile. Then he whirled about and stalked off wordlessly, his cloak fluttering behind him.

A moment passed in silence. Ajantis recalled Kivan's history just then. Shar-Teel looked at the ground, grinning wide. Imoen was wincing. Coran tilted his head to the side, leaning slightly on his bow with his brows raised in bewilderment. Then he glanced at Viconia. "He, uh... He doesn't have many friends, does he?" the wood elf asked quietly.

...

* * *

[Author's Note]

Nothing fits in one chapter anymore! Gah! But I felt Ulraunt, Shar-Teel's gift giving, and the archery competition needed it's own chapter end XD

**Dexterity:** Kivan: 17 vs Coran: 20 (or 19 if you play with bgtweaks, which is the highest legal value)  
**Strength: **Kivan: 18/12 vs Coran: 14

Also I have a number of relatively fresh art pieces on my deviantart account, including Branwen bringing Xan home to meet the folks, and a pinup of Sheilaktar :)


	31. Uktar Twelfth, Thirteen Sixty-Eight

This chapter only came out so fast by accident XD My most recent art on Deviantart is a pic of Tallix and Gorion kissing :3

...

* * *

_**Uktar Twelfth, Thirteen Sixty-Eight**_

...

* * *

Remarkably, it seemed that very nearly the whole of Beregost had become aware that Imoen Winthrop was having a birthday.

The Heroes of Nashkel and Beregost usually suffered from so much internal drama that Xan thought it difficult (and alarming!) to remember that they had become noteworthy public figures, and therefore the objects of some interest in the town. Usually this manifested as nothing more noticeable than polite nods on the street and the occasional drunken cheering while in a tavern.

Now, however, the bartender had come up to the party with a number of letters and small gifts which he was forwarding on to the party. Aegis blinked in surprise, taking them from the bartender. She shuffled through them and saw that some were addressed directly to Imoen, while others were written out only to 'The Heroes.'

"Huh," was all the ranger could think to say at first. It appeared Aegis wasn't given to dwelling much on her own heroic status. After a moment, she tilted her head to the side. "I wonder if this phenomenon is going to happen everywhere I take her for the rest of our lives."

Xan was equally impressed. "I am starting to appreciate the grand magnitude of appellations such as 'best friend ever' when utilized by Imoen Winthrop. That is a tremendous amount of competition."

Aegis pressed her lips together in a wide line of amusement and nodded absently.

"We should be careful with sealed objects presented to us by strangers," Edwin mentioned, coming back to them from where he'd been lingering nervously around the tavern entryway. "Even without factoring in a bounty (which we've heard little about in the last month but which I wholly suspect will turn up again eventually), our party has been amassing a long list of additional enemies with reputations for working from the shadows. All of us should be carrying antidotes on our persons, and refrain from traveling alone or at least without disguise."

Aegis made a face. "That sounds a little excessive. This isn't Thay."

"It's excessive," Xan muttered, but then begrudgingly went on: "It's still something we should consider. Our enemies are not limitless, but how can we justify sloth in this arena when we've had a small army sent to kill us already once before? Particularly when we just foiled a tremendous piece of their plan You are not a lone pebble in anyone's shoe anymore, Aegis. Your party is turning into a fourteen-man rockslide, and your enemy may just happen to have a lot of money with which to solve you."

The ranger mused on this.

Khalid, who had come up to investigate, smiled and taped Xan on the shoulder. "That w-was an optimistic metaphor."

The elf was blinking in surprise. "I suppose it was," he admitted, disturbed by himself.

"Let us not forget your necromancer is expecting to be reprimanded for his actions." Edwin added to Aegis. "I should explain that the amount of attention we already put into warding the bedrooms at night borders on something I might have expected to see in Academy dorm rooms in my homeland. _You_ may not have realized it, owed to your shoddy grasp of magic, but we already put a great deal of effort into thwarting eyes and intercepting hostilities.

"For instance," the Red Wizard continued, "I checked with the bartender upon my return to see how exposed our food might be. He confessed to me that he has been giving his chefs and servers explicit instructions about how they handle food- especially when serving it to _us-_ after he found some brazen ex-bandit tart trying to slip rat poison into the entire tavern's soup supply in some fit of spite."

Khalid paled and Xan frowned. Aegis straightened, and contemplated this new information. "Ah." She scratched at her hair, and was thankful in that moment for her surfeit of paranoid wizards. "Well then. Do one of you have a plan?"

"Yes, a simple one," Xan decided. "I will examine them ahead of time. Then someone with a better constitution can pre-open them while under the effects of a spell to resist anything particularly deadly. A cleric and mage should be on hand in case anything surprises us."

Aegis entrusted the envelopes to Xan. "Alright then. Have Xzar open them once the cake's done. Preferably not near said cake." She looked to Khalid and Edwin, but the latter had already wandered back to the tavern door to linger there.

...

* * *

Xan had left the envelopes with Jaheira after inspecting them and finding nothing immediately amiss. He was upstairs in the inn and fetching his own present for Imoen that he might add it to her steadily mounting pile, when a tickling sensation climbed up his spine. Eyes. He felt eyes. He paused beside his bed, pursed his lips thoughtfully, and then quietly murmured words that he might detect invisibility.

Nothing was in his room, he observed discretely, but that warning prickle still had him frowning. He stood then, and crept quietly up to his door.

An Arcane Eye drifted slowly past, its mass rolling from side to side as it inspected the hallway and the various doors lining it.

...

* * *

'_Xzar!'_

The necromancer nearly fell face-first into the cake he'd been dolloping with fruit sauce. He snapped backwards and clutched at his chest in surprise, and glanced around for a moment. "Elfy?" he asked the air.

The enchanter's voice returned: _'There is an Arcane Eye up here, and it has paused directly outside the door where that ghastly ritual took place!_

Xzar sucked in a sharp breath, and brought a hand nervously to his mouth. _Spying, scouting, or ascertaining? Assault planned? Short time frame. Insufficiently near assets. No, no, preliminary. What to do? What to do?_ He teethed lightly on his forefinger before recalling that he wasn't supposed to chew on his hands, and anyway he needed to make sure he didn't get any blood in the cake.

"Is something happening?" Jaheira asked quietly. _What? Oh, yes, her, present._ She had been on Fool-Monitoring-Duty.

"They are looking for me," Xzar murmured, mussing his fingers through his hair to keep them occupied and out of his mouth. _If they fail to find me, will they presume I've perished? Mitigate reprisal from Zhentarim? Mitigate interest? Or is The Little Death enough to attract them back?_

Jaheira's brows furrowed. "You are employing some measure to fool targeted scrying?" Xzar nodded, distractedly. She placed her hands thoughtfully on her hips. "Well. What are the odds anyone would come looking for you in a tavern kitchen?"

"Boo suspects," Minsc chimed in, "this could be the best of all hiding places!"

Xzar looked over at them, still wide-eyed. It took him a moment to process what they'd said. Then a grin split across his face, showing off teeth, and he breathed the ghost of a laugh.

_'Elfy,' _he thought back to the espying enchanter. _'Do not let it know you can see it. Do not dispel it, unless it heads for me.'_

_..._

* * *

Shar-Teel watched to make sure that Imoen caught up with Kivan.

"I just don't think he likes you in specific," Viconia finally answered Coran.

The archer blinked, peering at her past his bow. "Why me?"

Viconia shrugged. "You like me."

"Ah." Coran seemed to have forgotten that she was drow. "Well then, there's no helping that. It is not my fault for having good taste. Hopefully the little imp can smooth things over...?" He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Can I give you an archery lesson, then?"

Viconia frowned at him. "Is that innuendo?"

"By no means. It's an excuse to stand intimately close to you in the middle of the day without conveying the completely fallacious impression that you might possibly like me."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You know, Coran, your tongue is... _amusing_. Sometimes. Usually when a woman is sitting on it."

"Incidentally, that is also when I like it best!" the archer piped up. Behind him, Ajantis made the hand sign for 'Ew,' which finally explained for Viconia why he had insisted upon her teaching him such an otherwise useless signal.

"And you are skillful, yes, _beautifully_ so," she growled, irritated by Coran but somewhat amused by her paladin. "If overeager in the way of a child."

"Oh-ho!" Coran laughed, nodding. "I have been getting called 'immature' since I hit adulthood, but I appreciate that you are at least creative and cruel in your phrasing!" Viconia scowled at him, displeased with his refusal to wince. Coran kissed his fingertips, and blew them at her. "I know when I'm being dismissed," he admitted. "But I can't help myself. I am the best at more things than one, and I know it, Lady Panther!"

"Oh you're the better archer alright," Shar-Teel chuckled cruelly, walking past them and reaching casually over to steal a firm grope. Coran glanced up at the fightress in amusement. He not only failed to jump at the contact, but actually seemed to lean back a bit and savor the fightress' menacing appearance. "And I'm sure you're the better fuck. But _he's_ a ruthless and unstoppable killer," Shar-Teel continued, "and mute. And I'll take that on my side any day of the week."

"I understand entirely, Shar-Teel," Coran smirked.

She grinned, and went to go see if Imoen had managed to calm the wild elf down.

Ajantis tried to ascertain whether or not Shar-Teel might possibly be attempting to make him feel jealous. Then he stiffened when he realized his females were splitting up, and that one was walking alone while the other was lingering with a near-stranger.

The paladin tried to decide whether he ought to be walking with Shar-Teel or staying with Viconia. _Oh dear. _Coran's interest in the latter still made him nervous, but the former might possibly take his lack of attention as some sort of strange insult. _Helm, women confuse me._ He sighed. _And I say this as a man who is not presently attempting to court any of them. _

"Pretty Boy!" Shar-Teel hollered as if skipping the 'asking him to follow' stage and proceeding directly to the 'hurrying him up'. Ajantis glanced worriedly to Viconia.

'Safe?' he asked her by sign.

'Go,' the drow signed back, and he received the sensation that, displeased as she looked with Coran, the two would still end up sleeping with one another before the hour was out. Bewildered but equipped with a clear course of action, Ajantis followed after Shar-Teel.

_..._

* * *

"Why did you follow me?" Shar-Teel asked.

She saw Ajantis looked confused: "Because you were yelling for me to?" he offered with that stupid boyish naivety.

The fightress snorted. "Could have easily just _ignored_ me. Didn't even need to come out here in the first place. Why did you?" The paladin frowned slightly. _Ugh. So he's 'concerned' about my mood. How fucking cute._

"I thought you wanted me to."

"You're _pathetic_," she laughed mirthlessly.

"Because I won't sleep with you?" he asked with surprise.

She shot him an annoyed look. "You think I'd spend more than three seconds worrying about the whereabouts of a man's cock? You're full of yourself. No, you're pathetic because you're a simplistic sheep. Whoever birthed you shat out a moron, and whoever trained you ought to have his face smeared in horse dung so he can have a taste of his own medicine."

Ajantis frowned, and his eyes narrowed slightly.

_Ah... So he does still have a nerve left. And here I'd thought watching the dwarf die had chopped them all out._

"That I lack for Sir Firecam's gift in leadership is my own failing," Ajantis replied a little dourly. "I would thank you not to insult the worthiest knight I have ever had the honor of knowing."

"I would pull down my trousers and piss on his shiny mailed foot," she told him. "And if you had half a brain, you'd realize you'll never be anything more than a cute little soldier, obeying orders to make everyone else feel in charge." Damn straight. Everything about him always came off as soft in the head. Even his _voice_, which she'd have expected coming from a choir boy more than a bard, and certainly not from a knight_. _"I'm sure daddy loves that."

Ajantis tilted his head slightly to the side. "My father is an emotionally distant bigot," he informed her. "And is about as pleasant towards women as you are towards men. He would not even approve of my deference to and respect for _Aegis_, or that I am learning swordsmanship from a swordswoman. I doubt he would have approved of a hypothetical plan to make any woman feel 'in charge' even if it did not involve her repeatedly hitting me."

Shar-Teel stopped walking and rounded on him. Her brows were narrowed, and her eyes were, as always, considerably sharper than one would expect in a woman of her temperament. "Where do you get off trying to gussy up to me?" She prodded him in the chest.

"Shar-Teel-"

"Don't piss me off, kid, or I'll be taking fingers instead of pulling punches. You think you can entertain me with your boring ass stories? _We_ aren't friends. I'm not the person who you splurge your pathetic home life crap at. Save that for the softies or, better yet, don't fucking talk at all. You grew up in luxury and no one cares what you think you've suffered."

He straightened. "There are many different kinds of suffering, Shar-Teel. You seem to carry a lot of your own-"

"What problems do you think you've had, studying in your pretty books about gods and respecting your shiny gold statues and marble pillars?" she snapped, her face flushing with anger. "You think to try and relate to _me_? You're fucking _high."_

"I cannot relate to you at all," he agreed, a dark cloud seeming to settle over his face. "You are thuggish, mean-spirited, hedonistic, and bitter, and you have never served any higher purpose than your own gratification. I would have never voluntarily associated with anyone even remotely like you in my life."

She laughed a biting, dismissive, sharp sound, and wasn't certain whether she wanted to bleed him for being a snooty Amnish fop or else clap at this demonstration he still had an ounce of spine to him.

"I would have been a fool," the boy surprised her. "You demonstrated very well on our first meeting why I ought to respect you. Because no matter how foul your temperament or red your hair, my moral indignation didn't award me the skill to beat you. You are worldly, and you have the stronger sword arm and the better footwork."

"I said not to flatter me," she spat back at him. "I don't appreciate ass-kissing, so you can save your fetish for the incompetent tin can who taught you how to parry." There was that dark expression again! It elevated up her pulse, and pulled a grin over her face. His teacher- that's who he was sore on.

"Shar-Teel, there is no one in all Amn who truly knows Sir Firecam who would not tell you-"

"Anyone who knows Inquisitor Firecam can tell you that he's a bloody cuckold who can't satisfy his own damn wife!" Shar-Teel relished each word, especially as the knight-squire's eyes widened. "And that it's no fucking wonder you haven't an honest clue about sex, love or 'romance' if you were listening to that old gentleman's man- unless, of course, we can explain both mysteries: Were your _hindquarters_ as virgin as your front end?"

His expression was livid, and his arms were shaking by the time she was done talking. He grabbed at her shoulders and collar, and she had a knife up under his armpit and past his plate in an instant.

"Wrong move you hypersensitive masculine-" she barked and then her eyes widened and she jerked her head backwards as the paladin kissed her. She didn't have any hands in the right position for pushing him away; close quarters was where she was best equipped to kill a man in plate. She stood there, back straight, shoulders seized up, every nerve on edge.

Ajantis released the kiss gently, with a brush of his gloved thumb against her cheek. He stood there, an inch from her nose, staring (slightly) up at her. "Do you love me?" he asked.

Her disgusted, incredulous expression most likely spoke for itself.

Ajantis' stare remained on her for a long moment. "I take it the answer's 'no.' In that light, is it really so unbelievable that I wouldn't want to sleep with you? It has nothing to do with whether I find you attractive."

Her brows came together.

"W-which, incidentally," he slowly released her, a heat rising in his face, "it appears I do." He cleared his throat helplessly and then moved to step past her and keep walking.

She looked after him and, belatedly, growled out, "Why?"

The squire glanced back at her, surprised. "I don't know...?" He thought about the question for a moment and then rubbed at the back of his neck. "I... I think it's because you are so..._ so._.." he gestured with both his hands as if frustratedly trying to pack a great deal into a small space: "... _loud._"

Loud. The word sounded as confused as it was confusing.

...

* * *

Xzar was sitting beside the cake, quietly looking over the mail without opening any of the envelopes. The arcane eye was still floating around the tavern looking for any sign of him but, just as Jaheira had expected, the one place it never once thought to look was the kitchen.

"What do you expect to find that Xan could not?" the druid asked softly; she'd decided it was best if no large number of people were going in or out of the kitchen, lest the eye come and investigate, and they were hoping it would depart on its own before the party started.

"I'm not sure," the necromancer responded in a voice just above a whisper, and he lifted an envelope up towards a lantern to get a silhouette of its contents. "Perhaps my hobbies permit me an intuition for these things."

Jaheira's nose wrinkled at the word 'hobbies,' She would never genuinely trust Xzar. _Ever, _and it was not even just a matter of personal gut instinct.

Jaheira recalled Gorion as a terrified shell of himself, years ago in Waterdeep. He had said such troubling things then, things which she hadn't been able to absorb, weigh, or appreciate: "_Suffice to say, I became embroiled in divine happenings- and in the process, I lost everything. Everything but the last tattered fragments of my soul."_ He'd pushed nearly everyone away, and now Jaheira knew exactly _why_. He'd not only been frightened of letting enemy servants near his daughter, but scared also of what goodly folk might think. _ "I fear the Chosens of Mystra; __That one day they will take her from me. Judge me compromised and unfit to keep her, or..."_ And Xzar, Xzar had been a _Bhallite Cleric. _Even Montaron, loathsome and murdering creature that he was, had thought to warn them on that count. It had to mean something.

Jaheira owed it to Gorion to be vigilant. At the same time, she did not feel the same disgust and hostility towards Xzar as when she'd first found the necromancer traveling in her niece's company. His affection _seemed_ ardent. Ardent enough, at least, to predict he would remain a permanent fixture of their group. And if that was the case, perhaps it would pay to know more about him.

"What originally drew you into your organization, wizard?" she asked, and refrained from saying 'Zhentarim' so as not to scare nearby tavern workers. "You are not so old. If your story is true, you have spent a third of your life in captivity."

Xzar glanced at her. His face was very different without it's tattoos; at once more human, and somehow more eerily nuanced. None of his facial expressions seemed precisely _right. _"I once was an apprentice, as are all wizards. Our cabal had its pre existing affiliations."

_Hmm._ "Who was your master?"

"Oh he is very dead now, and well beyond your concern," the necromancer explained casually as he lifted up another envelope. "They all are, you see. Dead, missing, or mad. I was the youngest of them, their rare little prodigy. Perhaps youth is why the rabbits presumed they could break me." He shrugged as if he had never really conceived of himself as younger or older than anyone. "But I have a long memory, and hold longer grudges; and they had nothing I wanted."

"Even freedom?"

"_That_ word is subjective," Xzar reminded her. "So is 'pain'."

Jaheira tilted her head to the side. "Wizard, what attracts you to Aegis?"

"Her hips. She has the most beautiful hips."

The druid covered her face.

"The iliac crest is clearly defined as it slides down from the obliques; the combined curvaceous and feminine swell of femoris, lateralis, and tensor under sturdy flesh is sublime, the femoral pulse is strong enough to make me positively giddy. And that is all before we even discuss the pelvic floor- You know, I do believe this has _anthrax_ dust in it." She looked up. He glanced at her. "Ragpicker's Carbuncle," he substituted an less bookish appellation.

"The burial sickness?" she asked slowly, her eyes widening as she came forward.

Xzar held up one of the envelopes he had been inspecting. "Yes... Mixed with a large sum of glitter. Which is horrible, I might add. Deviously and splendidly and shockingly horrible. I should try it sometime."

...

* * *

Viconia and Coran returned to the tavern with nary a hair or clothing article out of place, but the grin on Coran's face and the annoyed but contented expression on Viconia's suggested that Edwin and Imoen weren't the only two party members who had recently risked mentally scarring helpless bystanders in public places in the middle of the day.

Coran added a small but thoughtful gift box with a few oddball magical arrows to the top of the gift pile. Aegis updated Viconia on the matter of the nefarious glitter mailing, and Viconia explained that there was about a twenty-five percent chance that Shar-Teel and Ajantis had also ended up rutting in the woods somewhere.

"Only twenty-five percent?" Aegis asked, for Viconia was inclined to overestimate the power of people's vices.

"I may be relatively new to noble-born rivvin and their alleged feelings towards courtship," Viconia remarked, "but one would have to be incredibly stupid to share living quarters with any fool that straight-backed for months and fail to notice his inhibitions. The only thing more peculiar than his self-denial, is his presumption that his ideas are universal, when he is clearly a glaring exception to the general rule even for your species."

The ranger planted her hands on her hips and grinned down at her. "Viconia, I would like to submit the possibility that you have attracted attention from a disproportionately high ratio of ill-behaved persons, as a result of commonly held surfacer perceptions about drow."

She considered this possibility. "You speak referencing your own monogamous tendencies? I would like to submit that you are a berserker who grew up in a quiet library, at which you stayed well past the age of adulthood, and so something is clearly wrong with you to begin with."

Aegis was quiet a moment. Viconia smirked. "Alright, fair enough," the ranger admitted, grinning at her dark elf. "But the longer I'm out in the world, the more I notice people's perception of morality changes dramatically with their context." She straightened up and cleared her throat. "Also, once I came of age, I couldn't have left Candlekeep and gone back anymore."

"The 'Right of Abode' thing this Ulraunt is mentioning?" Viconia asked. Aegis grunted. "Perhaps I can understand a reluctance to permanently lose one's home." She reached about on her person and drew out a small package. "I have decided to participate in this 'gift-giving' exercise that has the rest of you so excited. Do I put it over there?"

The ranger laughed. "Depends. Does it need a warning label on it?"

The drow grinned. "Not this time."

...

* * *

Kivan succeeded in his all-important task of keeping Imoen out of the tavern. He and Imoen had found a quiet spot to practice archery against logs. Shar-Teel and Ajantis found them there, and the latter politely requested his own archery lesson because his skills were so subpar. The entire activity bought the party an entire extra hour to prepare with.

(Incidentally, this had ended up being important, as the party decided to redouble their attention on the potentially lethal foreign gifts. It also ended up being important because Eldoth, the bard from the bandit camp, showed up to offer his music to the celebration. He and Xan ended up having a bizarrely tense conversation about nothing much at all.)

As the four of them, Kivan, Ajantis, Shar-Teel, and Imoen, returned to the tavern, they bumped into Edwin who was just leaving.

"Edwin!" Imoen laughed. "Are you leaving? I was like ninety percent sure I was just coming back to a secret special surprise birthday party I was pretending I didn't know about."

"Yes, yes," the conjurer muttered, his attention focused on something else entirely as he passed them "I'm busy."

"What?" she called amusedly after him as her companions' all stared in various stages of disbelief.

"Nothing which concerns you (of course not, why would she even ask?); Awaiting important correspondences; Amuse yourself in the meantime," Edwin answered, departing.

"_Hey_!" Imoen protested, half offended and half laughing, but he was already gone. "Oh come _on_."

"Pig's lost in his own idiot head again," Shar-Teel remarked. "Want help knocking him out of it?"

"I can't believe he somehow didn't notice he _has_ to be there for my birthday," Imoen mused, for she'd noticed Edwin had been muttering. "Nah, let him go try and take care of whatever he got distracted by. He'll remember himself eventually.

"I'm not sure it's _himself_ he forgets," Ajantis posed.

"Ho! You know nothing, Ajantis Ilvastarr," Imoen grinned. "His attention is a narrowly focused lantern, and rarely even illuminates the terrain he's standing on. Or under. He is _phenomenally_ capable of forgetting himself."

The paladin didn't look like he believed her. "How did you both begin to socialize with one another?" he wondered as they continued walking.

"Me and Edwin?" Imoen asked as they entered the tavern. "He's my damsel in distress. All heroes need one, you know.

Shar-Teel's laughter was incredibly loud, but it was eclipsed entirely by the enormous shout of "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, IMOEN!" which roared up from the tavern as Imoen walked in to bursting confetti and unraveling banners displaying her name.

Imoen stopped walking and gaped. There were streamers and banners everywhere. The tables were set with a feast of royal proportions, with a whole roasted hog, giant baskets of schnitzel, soups filled to bursting with fresh fish, and a few plates filled with oysters as a special coastlander treat she'd always loved savoring at Candlekeep. There were pastas, and meat pies, and every which sort of food that was imaginable, spread out on every square inch of table space.

And her cake? Her cake was a six tier-tall tower of alternating chocolate fudge and short cake, dripping with a cascade of bright, bright red strawberry sauce, and covered in waterfalls of rainbows with tiny, illusory, cherubic unicorns galloping all over it.

"Did I die?" Imoen asked faintly, as her whole party rushed up to hug her and coax her laughingly inside.

...

* * *

The first thing that had to happen was a great deal of eating. This was firstly because everyone knew dinner had to come before desert, and secondly because there was no room on the tables for any presents yet, and everyone was at first forced to hold their own alcohol.

As plates were cleaned by the ravenous party (and the plates on Branwen's and Minsc's side of the table ended up disappearing faster than anyone else's), the eating settled down into laughing, talking, and birthday wishes.

There was so much activity and so much warmth to the moment that it was impossible for anyone not to have a good time. Even Kivan. The wild elf got through his first few mugs of ale with remarkable speed, and then could be found smiling faintly and occasionally interjecting as he listened to Shar-Teel tell some boisterous, grand, and apparently accurate story about fighting orcs.

"Ah!" Xan called out suddenly. "It's gone. Yes, it just left."

Aegis groaned. "Thank Oghma." She'd been wondering whether or not to risk bringing poor Xzar a plate of food where he was no doubt sitting and kicking his feet in a corner of the kitchen. A prominent chef very nearly hadn't gotten to see his own cake served.

"What's gone?" Imoen laughed.

"An Arcane Eye," Xan sighed. "Let's wait long enough to make sure another one isn't about to pop up."

In the end, Xzar did get to rejoin the celebration, and he was present when they cut Imoen a slice of cake, dolled it up with twenty past candles and one future one, and brought it to her that she could make a wish for the coming year.

...

* * *

"Oh gawds," Imoen moaned through a mouthful of cake. "Where did we find this cake?"

"Is it good?" Xzar asked, and Minsc nearly wet himself waiting for the answer. Xan had been skeptical about the tradition that Imoen should get the first piece of cake, but then Xzar had been remarkably successful in keeping dangerous substances away from it.

"I want to marry this cake," Imoen very nearly had tears in her eyes. "Whoever put fudge and shortcake together was a good person."

Xzar looked at Minsc, and Minsc looked at Xzar. "Huzzah!" the latter boomed, and then lifted a preparatory hand Xzar blinked, realized a 'high five' was being solicited, and stood up to lean over and return it with a gleeful expression.

Imoen gaped. "No_ way._"

Aegis and Xan shrugged bashfully, and then the latter coughed and started cutting them all wedges of cake. "Well, now I need to know what all the hullabaloo is," she admitted.

It was generally accepted to be the best cake most of them had ever tasted, with Imoen and Aegis remarking that Griswold Winthrop himself was probably the only man who could have outdone them.

"What I just can't figure out," Imoen explained after far too many pieces of cake. "Is how did anyone figure out to use _strawberries_? Or shortbread cake, for that matter!?"

"We asked the evil wizard!" Minsc offered excitedly.

It took Imoen a split second to realize Minsc didn't mean himself and Boo had asked Xzar, but rather that himself, Boo, and Xzar had asked _another_ evil wizard. Then Imoen perked up, looked about herself and frowned slightly. Still missing...

...

* * *

As soon as sufficiently large amount of space had been obtained on the table, and throughout the cake eating process, the townsfolk's letters were opened and read aloud. They were all heart warming or tear jerking, and often came with little tokens of appreciation or offers of hospitality.

Once everyone had been filled with food and doubly filled with cake, however, it was time for the big presents. Khalid, who was sitting closest to the pile, picked them up in a random order and passed them to Aegis, who called out the name of each gifter and presented them to Imoen one at a time.

Shar-Teel had gifted precisely what Shar-Teel had implied she had gifted.

Viconia had gifted a supportive upper body undergarment from Calimshan. "It is called a brassiere," she explained. "The way you traipsed around unsupported was starting to look painful."

"From you, I was expecting it to be frilly," Imoen admitted, quite intrigued.

Viconia barked a sharp laugh. "Like _he_ deserves the sight of that? No. Purely functional, this." Edwin was still missing.

Ajantis' gift consisted of a few assorted jars of mixed fruit preserves and jams which he explained had come up with the caravans from Amn. Imoen thought this was delightfully thoughtful of him, but then again she'd been half expecting The Complete Scriptures of Helm the Ever Watchful and a lecture on thievery. She gave him a grateful hug.

Khelben's gift was next. Imoen was eager to see what gift had been passed down to them from Gorion, and she shredded the package eagerly. "Oh!" she called, intrigued, and then slowly pulled out a set of elbow-length, black gloves wrapped in layers of what appeared to be a very fine gray silk.

"_Those_," Jaheira sighed as if seeing exactly what she'd expected to see.

Viconia and Kivan both perked up in surprise, and then glanced at one another before looking back at the gift. "In what manner did the old rivvil come to have such things?" Viconia breathed.

"You know what they are?" Imoen asked.

"They would be highly coveted in my homeland," Viconia murmured. "Those are_ Rahkri'shuu d'l'orbb... Gloves of the Spider._"

Khalid cleared his throat. "G-gorion was well-traveled. W-we all were! I-I was with him on th-that journey into the U-underdark. D-dreadful place, n-no offense," he said to Viconia, who straightened in disbelief and eyed the stuttering fighter up and down.

Then she glanced warily at Imoen. "He must have been no ordinary mage indeed," the drow remarked slowly. "Those gloves would not have been in a novice's possession.

"No," Khalid agreed with a faint laugh. "W-we all nearly died. Th-they became one of his favorite possessions."

Jaheira snorted. "He used them to maneuver himself, while invisible, into bizarre locations no wizard had any business flinging spells from. They allow one to scale vertical surfaces, and their dweomer cannot be suppressed by most techniques an enemy mage or cleric would think to employ against him. Given your tendency to end up on roofs, it is no wonder Khelben is giving them to you."

"They allow more than that," Viconia remarked, but did not immediately elaborate. "But yes, I could see how they would be an excellent tool in the hands of one who is both acrobatic and capable of spellcraft... I envy you, abbil! Try them on."

"Aye!" Imoen laughed, quickly scrambling to putting them on. They fit beautifully, and in fact seemed to resize slightly, and Imoen seemed to recall from her book that this was a clear hint of their potency; only big important heirloom items were ever written to suit more than one wearer.

...

* * *

One Imoen-in-the-rafters-upside-down later, and Viconia was decidedly impressed. Kivan was clearly unsure how to feel about all this, and was squinting suspiciously up at the pink girl. Jaheira just sighed.

"These are the best!" the pink girl squealed delightedly. "Look at me! Look at me! Ha! Hey, Ae, catch!"

Aegis, whose head was busy sorting through the idea that Gorion had fought his own battles in a rather cunning and agile manner, dropped the next present and spun about in alarm with her arms open. A pink thief, predictably, fell straight into her hold. Oof! "One day," the ranger predicted, "I am absolutely going to miss you on purpose."

"Yes! But that day is not this day!" Imoen laughed, climbing out of her hold and hopping excitedly back to her chair.

...

* * *

Imoen took the gloves off so that she could more easily open the rest of her presents. She folded up the items reverently and tucked them away on her person.

"Alright, next present!" Aegis called, picking up a fresh box. "This one is from Khalid and-"

Imoen looked up at the sight of wings circling around the ceiling of the inn. "Jackal?" she called out in surprise. "Wait, wait wait, Ae. Jackal!" She reached out an arm. The devil bat dove to her immediately, latching on to her arm with his feet and then latching on with his little thumbs to crawl up to her shoulder. He looked exhausted and very happy to see her, and she reached up to scratch at his chin. "Eee! Where have you been!?" she laughed, cupping his face and giving him a big smooch. "I _missed_ you! I haven't seen you since before everything exploded"

The winged fiend looked ecstatic to see her, too. He gave her cheek an affectionate nip, and then set to investigating her fingers for strawberry residues. She lifted up her plate so he could lick the strawberry sauce off. He nabbed the plate with one arm and a foot, and was quite happy with this whole arrangement. Indeed, it would have been hard to notice he was anything other than a normal bat were it not for his horns and the lightly sulfuric aroma...

"Of course you only love me for my fruit," she laughed, patting the bat and looking up at everyone.

"Alright, as I was saying," Aegis chuckled. "The next present-"

"Wait a moment," interrupted a highly inconsiderate Red Wizard, as he swept back into the room with a haughty grandeur he most certainly did not deserve and made his way past them and to Imoen's side. The party fixed him with more than one annoyed expression. If even _Viconia_ and _Eldoth_ had been present, what business could possibly have legitimized Edwin's absence? They did notice, however, that he was grinning very smugly and carrying a package.

Jaheira raised a brow. Had he gone out and purchased something on the fly? Surely not. Noblemen were very good at throwing money about in lieu of demonstrating any less shallow forms of affection, and gift-giving was therefore something they came naturally equipped to understand.

But as he reached the table, Edwin announced (in a voice that suggested he was very pleased with himself), "You will open my present next," and he settled his package down upon the table.

"Hmm? Mnn..." Imoen affected to lazily entertain the box. "Nahhh," she at last disagreed with show of her tongue. He straightened a little in surprise. "_You_ can wait your turn too."

Edwin looked confused for a moment, but then laughed. "You'll open it." He pushed the gift towards her.

"On it's turn like everyone else's!" she repeated, and pushed it back, a smirk in her voice but a sharp look in her eyes.

"Stop being contradictory for the sake of being contradictory!" He clamped his hands down on the package to keep her from rejecting it. "Everyone else is not gifting live cargo."

Imoen blinked at him and then straightened upright and looked down at the package. "What?" she demanded.

The Thayvian grinned like a happy crocodile. "Open it and you'll see."

"You got me an animal?" Imoen squawked. "A pet? In the middle of an adventure!?" That sounded crazy!

"I bought you a familiar," the Red Wizard explained, still grinning. "Something much better than a ridiculous hamster, at that! Now, open it."

Imoen's eyes widened. "Wh-!?" Then she glared at him. "Hey, you can't just buy me a familiar! That's a highly personal choice! That's something a wizard gives part of their soul to!" Xan straightened and frowned, leaning forward.

Edwin gave an exasperated sound, "I assure you I took all of that into account when making this purchase and I am positive of the accuracy of my selection. Just open it!"

"Wait a minute, no!" Imoen scolded. "You can't just pick a familiar for someone else!" The other wizards in the party were inclined to agree. "What if I don't want it, then what do we do with it? Where did it even _come_ from?"

The conjurer looked surprised by this sustained disapproval, so much so that he actually fumbled out an answer to her question: "Well, Amn most recently but I believe they originate in Hal-"

Jaheira bristled. "You flew a live animal here from Amn in a confined space with no food or water?" she demanded.

"Edwin!" Imoen scolded. "Is it a baby!?"

"If for some unfathomable reason that offends you, then you should liberate the creature from its confines at once!" a testy Thayvian growled.

Xan sighed and rubbed at one of his temples. "Once more the Thayvian makes foolish decisions everyone else must go along with in order to minimize collateral damage."

The Thayvian scowled. "You stay out of this; There is nothing wrong with this creature!"

Imoen huffed. "Aside from you picking it for me."

"I_ assure_ you that you will want it!" he claimed with mounting frustration.

"Not for you to decide!" She lifted her chin haughtily.

For a moment, Aegis was certain Edwin was about to explode and say something he could not take back. He fixed Imoen with a baleful expression for a long, long pause. Then, abruptly, he straightened his posture, took in a slow breath, eased back his shoulders, and gestured to the box.

"Look, there is a very small and likely frightened animal who has come a very long way to meet you," the Thayvian told her patiently. And regardless of whether you select her as your wizarding familiar or not- which is wholly your prerogative- I think you at least owe her the courtesy of meeting her acquaintance."

Imoen inspected her mentor's demeanor and then frowned doubtfully down at the little box. _It does seem rather cramped in there_. Stranger still, though, was that Edwin had just used a feminine pronoun to describe an animal. _Does that imply the little thing is smart? What did he get me, a Mephit? No, he said 'animal.'_

She flicked a stern and reproachful look up at the wizard, but then leaned forward and slowly took the box into her hands. She unlatched the lid and eased up one of the flaps.

A tiny brown, gray, white, and black creature popped its head out and looked around, causing Imoen to jump back in surprise. It (she?) made a sound that Imoen could only have described as an extraordinarily tiny and high-pitched oink-bark, and disappeared back inside.

Imoen looked wide-eyed up at Edwin and the rest of the party. What the hell had that been!? Her wizard laughed and leaned over, offering her a cloth-tipped vial of what appeared to be milk.

"Here. She is technically weaned, but this might make for a good first impression. Imoen stared at him in mute bewilderment as she took the vial. Then she leaned forward again, grabbing the present and slowly teasing it open.

Jumping jellybeans, what had he bought her? It had almost looked cute. Was it a rodent? A mouse or something? It sort of looked like a mouse, only its face was wrong, and it hadn't sounded right.

"Watch out for-!" Aegis protested, but before she, Edwin, Kivan, or Jaheira could warn the pink girl about bites, Imoen had reached into the box and extracted a sinuous gray fluffy thing with a curly tail. Most remarkable was that it appeared to be fringed in silver feathers.

"Edwin, what is...?" the thief girl murmured, fascinated. Big eyes stared up at her past a quivering pink nose, and a stream of tiny oink-barks poured out of its mouth as it shrank into her palms and fingers. Jaheira made a choking sound from nearby.

"She is called a 'sugar glider,'" Edwin explained, impressed that the little creature hadn't nipped at her or escaped. Perhaps this was owed to the presence of three rangers and a druid? Or had Jackal had some hand in it? "Specifically, she is a half celestial sugar glider."

"A half-," Imoen wondered, vaguely conscious of the devil bat slurping up strawberry sauce from her shoulder. Then the sugar glider stopped making noises, and stared at her as if she were a big ole scary dragon who had landed beside it. "Um." She thought to offer it the miniature bottle. "H-hi?"

A split second passed. Then it was as if an unexpected click occurred in the miniature creature's mind. Suddenly it launched into motion, hopping forward like a deer and landing with its tiny hands upon her nose. It stared at her with eyes that seemed enormous even for Pretzels or Xan. Then, with a blur, it had rushed up onto the top of her head and was running about in utterly unexplainable circles up there.

Imoen squeaked and wiggled about trying to grab for it. It bounced onto her shoulders, onto Jackal, and over her hands, and finally ended up back in her palms. "What are-? What is-?" The tiny creature dashed around in her hands, and Imoen laughed with delight, bringing the little thing close. It put its front paws on her nose again. "Edwin, what is this _madness_!?"

"How?" Jaheira whispered in hushed tones that sounded pained. Imoen looked up to see she was staring, estranged, at Edwin. "Why did you pick this sort of creature?"

"Snuggling tendencies, affinity for sweets, and hyperactive personality," the wizard listed, amused by this spectacle of instant camaraderie, as he bridged his fingers together thoughtfully.

"Explain," the druid hissed, not buying this answer for a moment.

Edwin raised a brow, and then looked at Imoen instead of Jaheira as he answered. "Aegis' father was your previous mentor. I noticed that Gorion had drawn dozens of the things in the margins of his spellbook. So I surmised his familiar had been one," he explained slowly. "And on reflection, it seemed a perfect match. The celestial affiliation was a lucky spot of timing."

Imoen looked up at him in surprise.

Edwin watched her, a little subdued now as if waiting to see what her verdict was. He glanced once at the cleaned dishes, the open presents, and the half-eaten cake, and it seemed he'd only just gotten an inkling of how late he was.

"You got me a familiar for us to remember Old Mr G. by?" she asked in a small voice. The sugar glider perked up as well, as if seconding the question, which was adorable, Imoen had never wondered what Gorion's familiar must have once been, though Khelben's first letter had mentioned something about him losing one.

Edwin seemed to study her expression for a moment and then nodded quietly.

Imoen shared a look with Aegis, who seemed equally stunned. Then she looked back up at the Red Wizard. For a moment, she couldn't figure out what to say about any one aspect or another. (Not the least of which being the moral grayness of buying juvenile semi-intelligent half-angel rodents and then flying them cross country by devil bat in dark boxes! Although, to be fair, this particular angel rodent didn't look like she felt particularly traumatized by the affair.)

"Oh, Edwin," Imoen murmured at last, her voice a little thick as she quickly stood and the sugar glider hopped onto her shoulder. Edwin frowned, confused, at the sorrowful expression her face. Then he flinched when she threw both her arms about his neck and hugged him tightly.

"What-?" he hesitated, surprised by why any of this warranted crying, much less public clinging episodes. "Do you _actually_ not like her, then?" He seemed uncharacteristically dismayed.

"She's _perfect_, Edwin," Imoen confessed to him with a big sniffle into the silk at his shoulder. "Thank you. So much."

Edwin blinked down at her hair as if still trying to navigate all these unnecessarily complicated and convoluted emotional hedge mazes. Then he tilted his head to the side, and straightened slightly. A slow smile ghosted across his face; a _fond_ smile, which stayed mostly at the eyes. "Good," he said quietly, and he sounded relieved.

...

* * *

[Author's Note]

Show of hands, when Edwin suspiciously sent Jackal off immediately after finding out what Aegis was, who realized I was throwing a red herring and that he'd also just learned Imoen's birthday was coming up? :3


	32. Someone Needs To Write a Manual For This

[Author's Notes]

I seem to have a growing list of fictional books for my characters to write XD:

1\. _Aegis et al's Comprehensive Guide to the Care and Feeding of Wizards_. (Authors: Aegis, Tallix, Branwen, Minsc, Imoen)

2._ Haikus for Halflings_ \- A book of food themed love poetry. (Authors: Imoen, Gorion. Helpful Contributions From: Branwen)

3\. _The Superior Adventures of Odded the Superchicken_ \- A paperback series and a number of plays. (Author Imoen, Editor: Garrick)

4._ Red is the Color of Love_ \- An enormous series of formulaic romance novels marketed under the pretense of being targeted towards Mulani noble women, but with the understanding that Red Wizards will totally hoard them under their beds and greedily devour every word. Written with highly detailed vocabularies, encyclopedic anatomical descriptions, elaborate logical explanations for things that ought to make sense to everyone, and constantly repeating and highly exaggerated romantic themes so as to allow normal emotional concepts time to sink in and take root. (Authors: Imoen Winthrop and Celisa Aleconner (Conveniently, someone already has a pseudonym!))

5\. _A Comprehensive Thayvian-to-Everyone-Else Bidirectional Dictionary_ \- "Keep to the back of the line if you insist on being worthless." Translation: "I like you and am frustrated with what I perceive as my own inability to keep you safe, as you lack my excessive paranoia. Please don't attempt anything particularly dangerous because I would freak out if something happened to you, and possibly burn everything to the ground." (Authors: Imoen and Sajantha XD. Celisa Aleconner gaped at the results in confusion for several minutes, before insisting on writing the reverse translations to get back at them. )(Subliminal Message: Read Truth or Tale II)

6\. _The Memoirs of Boo: Gentleman Adventurer and Miniature Giant Space Hamster_ \- We may never know how they ended up in print format.

7\. _Understanding Women, a Guide for Paladins_ \- (Authors: Ilvastarr &amp; DeVir. Special guest sections by: Khalid and Branwen. Poetry inclusions are a result of having Xan solicit commentary from an incredibly smashed wild elf.)

...

* * *

_**Someone Needs To Write a Manual For This**_

...

* * *

Xan was helping Imoen to try on the necklace of blue beads he had purchased her. "Each bead is enchanted to work like a _Sending_ spell," Xan explained as he stepped back to admire her. "The trigger words are _ven fahdon_. The message will be short but allow for a reply

"Oh _wow_," she murmured. "How much did this _cost_?"

He chuckled. "I _never_ again want to hear that you needed help and lacked the means to contact us. This? This shall do wonders for my stress reduction. Think nothing of it."

Whatever adorable, platonic friendmance had originally been going on between pink and purple, clearly it had never died. Red Wizards be damned.

It was late and, thankfully, their wards had gone unneeded.

Aegis was flushed red and singing to a drinking song. Her caterwauls were just as enthusiastic but slightly more on-pitch than the majority of the other tavern patrons'. Xzar had drank a little too much mead in an effort to relax after the Arcane Eye Incident. He was nestled into his ranger and giggling unintelligible things to himself.

Remarkably, the first couple to go missing from the party was Khalid and Jaheira!

The company's only married couple touched so infrequently in public that sometimes it was hard to remember they were more than close friends. An incredibly drunk Shar-Teel, while hanging off the shoulder of an unfortunately sober Ajantis, was happy to report that she'd investigated the Harper duo's peasant suite room and that the two Harpers actually did push their beds together.

Coran shot Viconia a devious glance, and then disappeared from the table next. The drow stretched and murmured something about Shar and rest. She abdicated her seat at the table, and meandered her way up the stairs with a glass of wine in hand. As she turned down the proper hallway, a voice growled to her from the opposite direction.

"Do you care to think about what is going through his head?"

Viconia looked to see the heated outlines of Kivan where he was sitting in the dark of the window sill. He had a near-empty bottle of wine in hand. "Who?" Viconia was surprised to find him speaking to her.

"The Genial One. Coran."

Ah. "Which head?" she drawled comfortably.

Kivan sneered. "Is it that you actually _enjoy_ being reduced to nothing but a forbidden fruit? A taboo so shameful and tempting as to be worth tolerating your disgusting personality for a few nights?" he asked with dripping poison.

Viconia made a disgusted noise. "Such a foolish, surfacer notion; to presume the _woman_ is the fruit. I take more than I submit, and that is the only reason it entertains me." His expression did not improve. "You think to shame me for my beauty, or for taking pleasure where I can? Think again."

A tight not-smile. "Enjoy your brief delusion of belonging, then."

Her eyes narrowed. "As you will no doubt enjoy languishing in your eternal self hatred, wondering whether you exist to kill or to protect; all whilst failing to actually _live_." Kivan shot up lightning fast from his perch. She grabbed reflexively hold of her new belt knife, a weapon she'd added to her arsenal precisely for fast-moving rangers and rogues!

Kivan did not move to strike, but he still advanced until he was more _over_ her than in front of her. His green eyes blazed hatefully down at her face "Live? Each breath you draw is wasted on you; you value nothing worth living for," he told her thickly, and she wondered by his gaze and posture if he was not tipsy. "By what right do you live?"

"Life is not a _privilege_, Kivan. It is a gift. I appreciate the preciousness of mine, while you resent and squander yours. The way you flaunt your deathwish is like spittle on the caskets of the fallen."

He lunged at her. She had the knife out in an instant, diving past his fingers. Her blade slit up him up the forearm, but then he'd intercepted her wrist at his ribs. His other hand closed at her throat and slammed her into the wall a good six inches off her toes with his body leaned into hers.

Viconia's eyes widened. "Kk-!"

"You have never, and will never love," he snarled, his breath thick with the sweet smell of wine. "Drow do not_ bond_ like elves. Drow do not share souls. You have no concept of the grief you mock, so be silent."

She could smell copper in the air, his blood. He seemed oblivious. His fingers tightened on her skin, bruising her. Then, suddenly, he dropped her to her feet. She gasped hard, leaning into the wood and trying to veer away from him. He caught her shoulders, shoving her back into the wall. She looked back up at him, teeth clenched, fist tightening on her knife. "Y-you-!"

"W-why are you so_ small_?" he demanded in a maddened whisper as he loomed and blocked all exits at once. His words didn't immediately register in her mind. [Why are you-?]

Her features slackened in disbelief as his knuckles brushed over her lips, cheek and ear. His hand paused there, hot against the side of her face. Lupine green eyes stared searchingly into her. Insane. Starved. _Hurt._

Viconia DeVir dropped her knife with a heavy thunk into the floorboards. Her hands found the long, dripping wound she'd left in his arm. Shadows coursed up through her, encompassing the wound in waves of healing. His facial expression didn't change until her fingers found his temples. Then his nose wrinkled and he withdrew into himself a degree, like a spooked animal. Her palms settled gently against the sides of his head.

_I can soothe this._

She felt tension seeping out from between palms; a voiding of useless, crazed energy into the darkness. A shudder of surprise rippled along him from head to toe. Then his eyes dimmed to slits. Gone, vetted: Pain, Torment, Guilt, Suffering; Everything.

Pupils dilated slowly.

She expected there to be hate at the bottom, but there was not. There was nothing but horned a woman with bouncing red hair, smiling up to the corners of her eyes, dressed in traveling clothes with a hatchet belted at her side and a longbow over her shoulder. His eyes closed slowly.

A black arrow, fletched in green.

Kivan jerked back from her, wearing an expression somewhere between fury, shame, and intense revulsion. Viconia stared at him. He stared back, his fingers twitching and his jaws tightly closed. Then, without a word, he turned around and wove his way unsteadily down the hall to find his room.

Viconia sagged against the wall where he'd left her for a moment, trying to regain mastery of her senses. A creak drew her attention to the stairs, and she saw Ajantis watching her with his sword drawn and a concerned expression on his face. Her jaws tightened and she stood up straight as she endeavored to look unperturbed. Ajantis climbed the last few steps, sheathing his blade.

The earnest concern, displayed so shamelessly across his face, tore her composure out from within her. Nightsinger, she was _trembling_! With a snarl, and twisted about to leave. Ajantis stepped closer, and the motion rooted her feet to the floorboards. Of course. When had her facial expressions ever denied him anything?

"Viconia?"

She lowered her gaze and squeezed her eyes shut, a pained and resigned sneer overtaking her face.

Ajantis was tall, too, and also broad. _Everyone_ was bigger than her; more noticeable now than it had ever been in the Underdark! He stepped hesitantly into her personal space. "Are you okay?" When she said nothing (when nothing came to her), he slipped a hand gently around her back.

Viconia steadied herself again with a deep breath, and then looked calmly back up at him. "Can I sleep with you tonight?" she asked.

Ajantis furrowed his brow at her because Viconia had come back to sleep in their room each and every evening she'd been 'out' with Coran. He supposed she had a mental shortlist of persons she was comfortable falling unconscious around, especially given that she did not appear to be able to meditate through her evenings as would be normal for an elf. "Ah... Colloquially or literally...?"

"I want to sleep," was her answer. Let the Tethyrian wonder if he'd done something wrong; she wasn't in the mood anymore. "It's just... the weather is... frigid." She heard her own words, sneered, and looked down.

After a brief pause, her paladin leaned over and pressed a chaste kiss to the top of her head. "Come on," he coaxed gently as he turned her towards the hallway. "You... you look exhausted."

Viconia said nothing as he lead her to their room, the room they shared.

Far behind them, leaning on the railing at the bottom of the tavern staircase, Shar-Teel's face pulled into a low, ugly scowl. Her gaze remained fixed on Ajantis' back long after he'd disappeared from sight.

...

* * *

The Copper Coronet was rowdy that night. Montaron tugged his hood low and tilted his pint lightly inspect it. Not fine stuff, but sharp.

Freelancer. No protection, but no sellout either. Better than he might have hoped for. This gave him the chance to prove his short sword a few more times.

That would work. So would mean ale and stale food. Life had been worse, many times. It wasn't the hurdles that were frustrating; it was the sense of going backwards... or in a circle. Starting at the bottom floor again. He wasn't young. Not old but... definitely not young-

He heard the wingbeats before something bright and rapidly moving entered his peripheral vision. The halfling grabbed the hilt of a dagger, glancing swiftly towards the motion. Then he hissed and shrank back in displeasure from the bright, white pigeon who dropped down onto his shoulder.

The hells!? Bloody animals! All the more reason to be glad druids were bugger-all at killing anything!

_Hold off. White pigeon. Xzar?_

His eyes narrowed and he reached swiftly to his belt for an antidote. Pah! 'Starting at the bottom floor.' If there was one thing that could put everything into perspective! He wasn't at the bottom, no matter how it felt. Bottom wasn't just bein a nobody; bottom was having no tricks to slide by on. If that fool had survived and now planned to off him...!

Montaron sneered at the pidgeon. I stood out brightly, like a sore thumb, and he was starting to get looks. Fine! He reached up to grab hold of it, and drew it down as it transformed into a bulging envelope. Just paper? Hmph. He handled it gingerly. Xzar was unpredictable, but not exactly subtle. Still, the envelope didn't have that oily feeling Montaron had come to associate with necromantic trips.

The halfling lifted up the envelope between himself and the table candle, trying to get a better idea of its contents. The first thing he noticed was that it was the wrong kind of paper. Fibrous parchment, maybe? Not rice paper. Montaron eased the letter closer to the candle, looking for a sign of green runes or mark on the underneath of the envelope skin or outer paper. Finding nothing, he held his breath and slowly eased open the lip facing away from him. Then he rotated it slowly about to get a better picture of it.

Red ink?

_Pink?_

Caution burst apart. He pulled the envelope back to himself, suddenly careless who might see! Abruptly, white wizard pigeons from nowhere weren't suspicious; Montaron had the perfect excuse, even for explaining his advanced scrutiny as he teased apart the pages with his thumb.

_Aye. __'Got a long letter from an ex-girlfriend.' Who the nine hells wouldn't understand that?_

He dug the letter out swiftly, cast the envelope down with eager disbelief, and unfolded the first of many pages:

"Montaron Snapdragon,

"First off," Imoen had written, "you better be alive. And second off, I hate you so much that I hope you pass out drunk in a sewer and die."

A grin - his first in months - spread over the halfling's face. He rested his elbows on the table and tilted the letter to better catch the light.

"I have all this paper to tell you just how bloody angry I am. Now there's no emergency and you can't even interrupted me! And I'm so mad, so hurt, and so upset that my pen is quivering and I don't even know where to begin. So you know what? I'm going to be straightforward about things: You're an asshole. You were the world's worst boyfriend, and betrayed me in the most awful way you could have even possibly imagined - and the only reason I can even talk to you right now feeling slightly blue instead of one-hundred-percent raging homicidal is because you failed. So you know what that means? You're a shit assassin, too. Thank the gods for that!"

"Oh, _ouch_," Montaron growled, and he couldn't stop grinning.

"When we got to Beregost, Edwin and I totally make a betting game out of sleeping with as many different people as possible whenever we were in town, so now I know exactly what a great lover (and a properly sized penis) really looks like!"

This lass was pulling no punches! Montaron was cringing and on the verge of laughing simultaneously. His lips moved over the words, and he shuffled to the next page.

"I'll have you know Garrick was as fabulous skilled in physical flourishes as with musical ones-"

_Death! Death to bards! _Why the hell was he still smiling?! Gods! He was smiling because a fellow thief, a littler thief, a pink thief was okay, and remembered him, and even if he'd never have another chance in the world at fixing things, it seemed he hadn't quite lost all of her. If this was her pity, then so be it.

"And after an extensively length courtship of verbal jousting that lasted months, I have somehow ended up in an extraordinary satisfying relationship with our Red Wizard-"

_WHAT!?_

"- who had a similar chance to betray us, by the way, and who elected to stick his neck out on my behalf instead. And who inadvertently ended up service as a splendid example of what love and trustworthiness amid huge disagreements and constant banter should actually look like!'

"Oh come _on_! _Him_!?" the halfling nearly shouted to himself, horrified and yet still somehow grinning despite it.

"-Also, I know you noticed my nose for magic, so I figured I'd tell you that instead of being tutored as a thief in thiefy things by an older thief, I'm currently learning magic-"

_I'm going to kill a wizard. He's already as good as dead. Why am I still smiling!? Worse than smiling! Gods, kid...!_

"-So just in case you had any notions of being irreplaceable, which I'm sure you didn't because you're scum, banish them now because I'd never sleep with you again in a million years and I totally replaced you-"

Honestly, Montaron was working so hard to keep his laugher constrained to unvoiced chuckles, that his face was probably a little red from the exertion. He moved to the next page.

"Okay. Phew. So, did you make it this far in the letter? Blah. If so I guess that means... something. Ahem. So, now that I've established how much I hate you and don't need you... Are you safe, at least?"

_Aw, kid..._

"Okay, fine, I'll admit it. I'm actually really worried about you. If you aren't safe, what is your situation? I hate you. But I'd be lying if I said it wasn't with more melancholy than anger most days. I don't really have it in me to ever forgive you to the point where I'd ever trust you again. That's over, and you've lost it forever. I'm not even sure if I could stand looking at you in person. "

_Yeah, I get that._

"But, well, on the other hand, a part of me already did go and forgive you. You even apologized. But I'm not going to reign in on how mad I am. If you take offense to that after what you did, then screw you. Um, but if all this hollering comes off as well-deserved from where you're sitting- if you're still reading- then I... I guess I'll admit it all hurt a lot more than it enraged me."

He was no longer smiling.

"I guess that sounds kinda stupid cause of the small timeframe. But it meant lots to me. I trusted you. I liked you- a lot. I don't even really understand why you did it, though near as I can tell it was impulsive and sloppy. It went against everything I'd ever heard come out of your mouth about the 'art of killin.' What were you, _frustrated_?"

He grimaced. _Blasted Aunt sniffed the same thing. S'pose that makes it true._

"If attacking Aegis was your reaction to me constantly putting myself in danger. I'd say that this was the most perverse 'I am doing this for your own good,' display I've ever been subjected to, except it's actually a miserable commentary on my life that I can say I've endured worse. Just a note: I would have infinitely preferred a 'hey, yo, we need to break up because I lose too much sleep worrying about you, and that's totally bad for a person's colon and ulcers and shit.'"

_Pink..._

"I dream of you sometimes and I'm not even sure what to make of it when I do. You hurt me. I can barely wrap my head around how bad you hurt me. You have, like, how many siblings? I've got one. Just one, and that's all I'll ever have, and you tried to take her from me."

He flinched. Hard.

"At the same time, maybe I can almost understand how it all happened. Where the reaction came from. We were very different people, and I don't suppose I fit into the scope of girls you were familiar with handling."

He thought of his sisters and their daughters. _Ha._

"But then you killed a poor old quaky widow's only son, the guard at the manor. I gave her enough money to make sure she's taken care of, but you can never replace a dead kid!"

_And ye'll take care of the whole world on yer own, eh?_

"I don't know, maybe by now I'm just ranting. My feelings got mashed like potatoes. When you tipped me off, I remember knowing I'd never have given you a second chance, but somehow still being disappointed you didn't ask, which was really confusing for me. I loved you, even if it had just started, and you broke my heart. And nearly killed my sis. I'm not letting you near either, ever again."

It took him a bit longer to turn the page.

"I don't want to try and fix things. Not the relationship. Not the obvious part. But you know what? You didn't just hurt your girlfriend. You hurt your friend-friend."

His brows came together.

"I can tell there are times I miss my thieving mentor and his grouchy, sharp-witted pragmatism. I want to know you're okay. And you know what? I need your help. I'm so mad at you but I want to keep writing you. Like the other things we sent while you and X were in Baldur's Gate. "

_Yer shittin me._

"I'm fresh out of one of the most cloistered places on Faerun, and despite how awesome I am, my sneakies still aren't honed enough to tell me how to keep my sister safe. So maybe that's a safe neutral topic, and more interesting than the weather?"

This was painful. So sweet, and painful.

"So if you're game, that's my first question: What do I need to know about what X just did (By the way he promised not to read this). And what about the repercussions? (Contextual addendum: we're all alive; the bad guys, not so much. Sis splattered a whole room with them and forgave him.)"

_Oh-ho!_

"Okay so this is the end of the letter, I guess. If you're gonna be mean, just burn this letter. I ain't got time for that. In fact, here pick a letter ending: A. I hate you and if I ever see you again I will help kill you *spit*; or B. Against all my best judgement, it would mean a lot to me to hear from you again. I look forward to your letter. *hugs* Sincerely, Ex."

_Gods above and below, girl..._

"Ps: If you try to hurt anyone else I love (And yes, the wizard is included! Especially the wizard!) I will tear your kidneys out with my bare hands and feed them raw to the necromancer. Then I will string the rest of you up squirming over a barbecue for him. And I mean this, see this illustration for emphasis:"

_Pity, that. _He was thinking too hard about her letter request to even be grinding his teeth on the matter of wizards.

"Pps: what is up with that auntie you mentioned? We can't make heads or tails of that."

He wasn't sure what he could tell her about that. He wasn't going to write a letter about his family anywhere Xzar might get ahold of it.

"Ppps: I included a recipe for a cheap cabbage stew you can make in an iron mug with a candle. It's actually reasonably yummy. I tested it yesterday and it's totally edible."

_I should have married you the day you gave me gave me goat cheese to get me to stop being an idiot._

"Pppps: Okay this is the last one I swear. I put some blank paper in this, in case you didn't have any, but obviously I couldn't send any ink. Dunno if you have money yet."

_That's not going to be the last one._

"Ppppps: If anyone but you gets this letter because you're incarcerated or something, they should totally try to ransom you to me, regardless of how incredibly unhappy everyone would be to see you. I'm emotionally unbalanced enough that any and all incarcerators might get me to pay something. Plus, Red/Purple/Green (and D, if she comes back) is a lot to preclude unfortunate outcomes (monetarily) with, and I can totally negotiate that."

_Knew it._

But he'd reached the end of her letter, and found the recipe (or, rather, instructions) for a Poor Man's Cabbage Stew. He looked up to see how far the candle had burned down. His food had gotten cold. The elation was gone, and a quietness settled into the depths of his belly.

Burning the letter- taking ending 'A'- would be easier. Smarter too. Particularly as he weren't no saint, and this wasn't a girl he'd could _have_ anymore.

But the right thing to do was to acknowledge the letter and refuse the contact verbally, to put her nerves to rest... and that would also let him give her some parting advice on handling the necromancer. Montaron stared at the candle.

_What's the date today?_

...

* * *

Gorion had settled the knife down on a casket so that he no longer had to be touching it, even indirectly. He paced back and forward and occasionally paused to stare critically at it. Tallix slurped quietly on the oatmeal he'd heated up for her using some cantrip.

"It's not a question of how he knew I would find it," Gorion decided at last. "This is the oldest, closest, and least despoiled Bhaalite structure near Candlekeep. If he wanted to cover up loose ends and thought I might go to research my daughter's condition manually, this would be the _best_ place to place something. And it is not as if the blonde hair would mean anything to anyone else. If I didn't ever find it, this is as good a place as any to hide it for some other Bhaalspawn."

"Question is," Tallix mused with a mouthful of oatmeal, "the hell was he hoping ye'd do_ if_ ye found it? Wrapping it up like a gift with a _bow_ of hair is odd when he knows ye despise and fear him."

"A psychological jab," The wizard had already reasoned. "But of what sort? A scare tactic? A taunt? A source of doubt ? A show of confidence?"

"Well I dinnae think he'd waste one of them presuming ye'd destroy it," Tallix noted, swallowing another spoonful of oats.

"That is what worries me," Gorion agreed grimly. "The implication of leaving it here is that he believes I ought to _want_ it."

"Aye, but why? Do you think there's some good reason to give it to Ae, or is it for killing other Bhaalspawn?"

"Both," he predicted. "He would want to arm his children with his own weapon. At the same time, his knives are unique in their ability to drain a Bhaalspawn's soul. From what I saw in those early days, children were being sacrificed to one another, which implies Bhaalspawn are able to consume eachother's taint. The taint then drove them insane... but it also made them stronger."

"So," Tallix gathered and gestured with her spoon, "ye think these knives are a sort of a jump-start tool for fellas late ta the Bhaalspawn game ta even the playing field against their older siblings? That would mean he meant ta give ye the choice of whether you'll arm Aegis with it, knowing the extra power could save or doom her."

The aasimar looked gravely to her. "Perhaps. The knife has another potential function, especially when Aegis was younger: I could have killed her with it and then asked Telthoril to destroy the blade so as to send her soul safely to Oghma."

Tallix perked up and her mouth rounded in an understanding, sympathetic, "Oh." The silence stretched between them, and Tallix looked uncomfortably at her emptied bowl as she thought about whether she would have done in Gorion's shoes. "Yeah, that's... Those sound like the asshole sort of choices he'd hand ye. 'A: Leave yer daughter ill equipped, B: Risk damning her, C: Give up on everything else so you can at least save her soul-"

"-by murdering her, just like I did onto Chai and my two boys," Gorion finished.

Tallix looked quickly back up at him. "Ri-"

He waved a hand dismissively. "It's okay. It's a senseless bit of guilt mongering on his part now. I could have killed Aegis the day I found her to that same effect. Back when no one even believed she'd ever learn how to speak, much less call me father. The woman she grew in was more than I could have sanely hoped for on adopting her! But... Imagine for a moment that I had failed Aegis, and that she was six years old and suffering every day as her sire slowly consumed her. Any loving parent in that situation would have wanted to ease their child's suffering, no? Especially in knowing that it was only going to get worse before the end. That would have been the appropriate time frame to go looking for a knife like this."

Tallix blinked rapidly and tilted her head to the side. "Wait, but Ri, isn't that _exactly_ what happened? When Ae was around six... she was a _mess_. And no matter how much Ulraunt bitched, ye didn't once contemplate hurtin yer own-"

The aasimar didn't look up, but the ghost of an adoring smirk touched his lips. "No," he whispered excitedly, and his voice was a breathy laugh. "No, I learned my lesson about giving up on children the first time. I learned my lesson about mistaking my suffering for their own." A sad look overtook his face, and he tilted his head back, breathed in shakily, and covered his eyes. "I'm okay," he said when he felt Tallix's hand on his arm. "I'm okay." He took in a deep breath to steady himself and looked thankfully at her.

"Aye, I see that," his assassin agreed with a warm and wry expression. Her fingers brushed his cheek. "It's normal ta have _emotions_, Ri. Ya know what I mean? That sweet spot between 'data amalgamation' and 'sob-rawr-destroy'?"

He chuckled, wiping at his cheeks and then looking down at her fondly. Then his face sobered a little. "I love you," he informed her.

Tallix raised a brow and planted her hands on her hips. "Right now ye've decided that, eh?"

His brows furrowed. "You did this at the camp site also, refusing to take me seriously."

"Aye," she agreed, amused. "You're surprised? Pretty bird, ye went from hysterical accusations that I'd betrayed ye, ta putting out thinly veiled advances, all the space of ten hours. Of _course_ I rebuffed ye."

The aasimar straightened in surprise and then blushed self consciously, as if the juxtaposition of those two events had only just occurred to him.

"Right," she chuckled, reaching for her pipe.

He cleared his throat. "To be fair, I am rather certain that the accusations were owed to me panicking. Later, I was stable."

She chuckled, lifting the pipe to her mouth before belatedly realizing she couldn't really smoke in a sealed tomb. "Oh ye think so? Feathers, use yer brain. I'm ugly as sin. T'ain't even like I'm sweet or summat for counterbalance."

The aasimar's attention riveted on her."You must be kidding," he murmured incredulously. "Tallix, have you honestly somehow forgotten that I've slept with you before?"

"Aye what of it?" she asked, tucking the pipe away and pulling out her nail buff instead. It wasn't the same, but the mechanical motion of tending her fingers did help release tension when she couldn't smoke. "Was _once_, was a permanent-life-long sendoff, and even then I shouldn't have gone along with it."

Gorion stared at her a long moment. "You see yourself as having taken advantage of me? I think you may be laying that on a little thick," he told her in a clipped and quiet voice. "You did, after all, manage to conceive two more children."

Tallix docked her head to the side and flicked her gaze up to him. "I paid eight hundred and fifty gold for Paewyn's da to sleep with me." His brows raised. She pursed her lips, even more amused than before. "No joke. Haggled him down from twelve hundred." He held her gaze for a moment, and then she looked back to her nails as she worked to file out imperfections.

The aasimar's fingers curled slowly into his palms. He stared at her and then turned his head away as his eyes closed and his posture tightened painfully. Sad tingles shuddered up from his belly to his breast. He folded his arms over his chest, and chafed his sleeves. _So the act means nothing to you at all? Not even from me?_

Tallix glanced up at him and paused. Then she smirked fondly. "Yer just lonely, Ri," she told him with a mischievous wink. "When all this is over, maybe we'll find you a girl."

His lips pressed tightly together and then slowly opened his eyes. His stare, focused out on nothing, was angry instead of sad. "You have a birthmark and two moles on the interior of your right thigh. Two scars on the outside of it. And one across your hamstring on the other leg."

She straightened, confused. He turned towards her, and then closed the gap between them and leaned over. His fingers touched her belly and navigated down the strips of leather till they rested just below her naval. "Your curls end here, and you have another mole," his fingers shifted, "here."

Her lips twitched, caught someplace between disbelief, surprise, and alarm. "What?" _It's been nearly fourteen years...! How the devil do ye-?_

The wizard glared indignantly down at her and said nothing.

She tried to laugh off the moment. Then, when his glare didn't waver, her expression went slack and her green eye widened. "Feathers..."

"I am not in the mood for this absurd and callous approach to 'protecting' me from how _unattractive_ you are," the wizard growled. "_I_ will decide your attractiveness for myself. Now, _grow a spine_ and grope my hindquarters while we are walking like the inappropriate little she-devil you are. Here I am anxious, stressed, and partially insane, and you think this is a good time for the _only_ woman I've touched since- since-" he pointed accusingly at the hair-wrapped knife- "you think this is a good time to pretend you are _indifferent_ to me!? You traveled from _Luiren_ to be here today!"

Tallix gaped up at him, her curled ears drooping and her arms lifted uselessly to her chest level. Then the words which she managed to say were a stupid squeak: "The _only_?"

"What!? Oh _I'm _sorry, did you not notice that I'd retired to live as a _monk_?"

"Yeah but ye didn't even, ye-ye know, relax... once?"

"With whom!? Do I look like a man who has an easy time relaxing!?" the wizard shouted as he waved his arms, his blue eyes blazing fiercely.

"Um I guess no, nae particularly..." she was leaning back. "But-eh- th-that's usually what the girl is for-"

"I do not peruse whores, Tallix Snapdragon! _You_ may conceive of sex as a tool for working off mechanical needs, but _I _do not! _I _fantasize about alternate pasts and futures involving long-lost halflings and use a _handkerchief_ like a _mature_ and _responsible adult_!"

Tallix Snapdragon's brain might as well have just liquidated and drained out of her ears. She went dead silent.

He was breathing heavily from all the shouting.

Heat climbed up , first into her face, and then out to the tip of her ears. "Ye jerk off ta _me_?" Tallix mumbled dazedly, as if he had just recited the complete _Songs of Hanali_ for her auditory pleasure.

A wizard stared violently, his fingers curled, and his cloak flared out with the anger of his gesticulations.

Tallix wove from foot to foot. She opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by an enormous bang that sounded across the chamber. Gorion twisted about to visualize the entrance to their alcove. There were at least three gates between themselves and the zombie dragon, but another massive bang made it clear that they'd been found. Apparently, hollering at one's full volume in an otherwise dead silent underground tomb was an ill-advised idea.

Well. That cued a premature start to the adventuring duo's morning. Gorion spun about, scowling, and grabbed the Bone Dagger from where it rested on the tomb. He tied it off at his waist, even as he kept it wrapped in its handkerchief and had no intention of using it. "We need to move," he said, reaching for his pack.

Tallix grabbed at his shoulder as he leaned over. He looked at her, and found her face was still red and her expression was intensely hopeful. "Here's the plan: We get out of this alive and then have sex."

His eyes widened. "_Yes,_" he confirmed unhesitantly. Then he grabbed up his pack. "When?"

"River. Need water for drinking and cleaning. Will have to set up wards."

"Agreed. Note: you might have to help incite me; I'm significantly less brave inside than I just projected."

She grabbed his chin and kissed him. He hummed ecstatically. They heard a gate explode. She pulled back and smacked his butt. "What're we waitin for? There's a lich to kill; Let's go!"

He followed after her as she grabbed the remainder of their thing in one quick armful.

...

* * *

Montaron left the tavern and traveled to the temple district's far northern wall before placing his return letter into the envelope. The air was black as he gave the sealed the letter and tossed into the air. The envelope transformed into a bird as it reached the apex of its climb, and with a burst of feathers it headed back north in search of its intended recipient. He watched long after the white feathers were no longer visible, and all that was left was a tiny bead of heat gaining heat and disappearing into the horizon.

No one had intercepted it, he concluded. No one cared to. There was a reassurance in that. "Happy Birthday, Imoen."

His walk back through the temple district was slower. A glum feeling sank in deep to the balls of his feet, bitter and regretful. _Irony in this. I give twenty-odd sisters forty years of heckling for bedding gutter trash. And now I'm gutter trash. _The assassin sneered, disliking these ruminations just as he was abruptly unable to shake them. _Me sole redeeming feature's that I can earn money instead of just spendin it. __And that's half of what got me here in the first place. _

He might have had use for a smoke or an ale, but suddenly he didn't much like the idea of going back to the slums just yet. Too _familiar_. He paused along the scenic walkways between a number of large carved states, to watch what he could of the water, trees, and decorations.

Guards passed him. Usually they'd take issue with lowborn folk cluttering up the district past nightfall, but these ones did not bother him.

_It's all in the posture, _he remembered being taught while watching carriages roll by._ Once ye go out there, ye ain't a slum beggar anymore_. _Keep yer back straight, yer legs shoulder length apart, yer chest up and yer shoulders solid. Be a silhouette that says 'why yes sir, I do belong hereabouts in these fancy parts.' Hardly matters if yer wearin rags or robes if yer wearin the right manner. The right way of walking's deadlier than invisibility, and safer armor than a thousand shields."_

The evening was quiet. Below the walkways, the water was black with midnight. Here or there, some kind of luminescent fish briefly illuminated a little patch of blue. He leaned his forearms on the rail.

"Guards! Guards, thief!"

Montaron perked up and looked down the catwalk, his vision attempting to adjust rapidly to the mix of light and heat. A wealthy man was standing beside a carriage. Guards carrying glowing lights were charging down the path. Where was-? Ah. Montaron picked up whisps of a heated shape just off the path of the lights. A thief was far ahead of the guards, his footfalls nearly silent and making fine use of the shadows to evade poor human vision. The thief picked a spot to vault over a low a decorative statue and change direction.

Hmm. Nice dexterity. But perhaps a little amateur-

The thief stepped on a mossy part of the walkway, slipped, hit the catwalk floor with a thud, and slid flailing clear off the side of the walkway.

-ish. _Heh._ Montaron smirked and raised a brow when he didn't hear a splash. He glanced back towards the guards.

"You there!" the knights shouted as two of them noticed the suspicious-sounding thud. "Have you seen anything!"

"I thought I did!" Montaron hollered back in his best Thorasta. "But maybe it was a cat! What's going on? Is it safe? Is this one of them 'guild war' things I've been hear-"

"Stand aside!" the guard dismissed him, and the knights continued their charge on after nothing.

Montaron, who hadn't been in anyone's way in the first place, turned to lean on the railing again. A moment later he glanced down the way after the guards, lips pursed and eyes shuttered in amusement as he watched them disappear. He waited a good two minutes. Then, with a casual cough, he straightened up and began a leisurely stroll down the walkway which just so happened to take him behind all the decorative statues. He kept his gaze fixed across the water.

When his toes felt moss, he casually crossed his arms and leaned them on the railing. Then, when the coast proved clear, he just so happened to look down.

A thief- not a lad as he'd expected, but a cloaked and masked slip of a girl- dangled there with her fingers just barely clasped upon a low-lying support beam.

"Evenin," he called. The masked girl tensed a little. He raised a brow, smirking. "Looks like ye could use some help."

The girl tightened her grip slightly. "W-would you?" she asked hopefully.

He inspected his fingers. "Fer half of whatever ye just snatched, aye."

"No!" she gasped. "I mean, it's not for me!"

He shrugged. "Then this ain't my problem."

"But- Look, by your accent, you'd understand," she begged. "It's for the poor!"

Montaron paused and then looked down at the girl again. He raised a brow, not certain precisely which part of absolutely everything that had just come out of her mouth ought to offend him worse. "Dinnae give a damn who it's for," he said. "Ye wana give it ta charity, ye can pretend yer donating ta me self-actualization fund, instead of payin me ta save yer thieving ass from the electric eels which Talos' fanatics have got swimmin in them waters beneath ye."

The girl might have swallowed hard, but he couldn't see well enough with light fighting darkness all about the district. She was certainly taking her damn time in thinking.

"Tell ye what," he decided to try something, "how about I just hollar for them guards ta come back and rescue ye, and ye can explain the whole matter to them?"

"No!" she gasped, horrified. "No, I'm sorry! Please don't!"

_This kid's noble born. _"Come now lass, Lathanderites are reasonable people. They won't cut yer hands off like proper guards; they'll just ask ye ta make penance and think about what ye've done. Might even donate that money themselves."

"No! Wait! Wh-what about a fourth?"

It sounded as if she were about to panic. No one ought to be more scared of arrest than of death. "If ye mean ye keep the fourth and I get the three..." he mused.

"Okay, half!" she squeaked.

He contemplating raising his demand for a moment, but a sustained argument would eventually attract someone. After a moment, he knelt, steadied himself on the railing, and then leaned low over the side of the walkway. She pulled herself up a few inches and grabbed for his hand. He caught her wrist and hauled.

The kid weighed more than he did, but he had good leverage, so pulling her up was near trivial. She wheezed in relief as he got her ribs up over the edge. He glanced around for trouble as she wriggled the rest of the way back up onto the catwalk.

"Thank you," she tried to say, but he lifted a finger to his mouth and gestured with his chin at where some guards had returned to the area.

"Let's not have this conversation till we're safely o'er the bridge," he counseled. "Come on. Follow me."

...

* * *

The halfling got them safely out of the Temple District and then back across the Bridge District too, just to be safe. Once they were looking at the Slums and Docks, the thieving duo could breathe a little more easily. They slipped into an alleyway.

"Wow," Nalia sighed. "I thought for a second there I was doomed. Thanks for the save." She reached to her belt and then stiffened in surprise. She felt around herself, and then twisted to look at the sound of clicking metal

The halfling was holding the stolen goods and tossing them idly in one hand. "Lookin fer summat?"

"How did you-?" she wondered, because she'd never seen him close enough that he could have untethered the bag, much less felt his fingers. The string, she saw, was intact.

"I'm significantly better at this than ye are," he said, catching the bag and tucking it away. "And with that, g'night to ye."

Nalia stiffened. "Hey! Hey that's mine!"

"Nae anymore," the short man responded. "And don't yell unless ye wanna attract unsavory attention."

"I earned it!" she hissed, following him.

"Nae more than I did. Think yer entitled ta things ye nick but can't hold onto?"

"You can't just-!" she grabbed his shoulder and then stumbled in surprise to find a short sword was drawn and the tip was pressed up against her belly.

"Can't what?" he asked her, his Moonsea Eyes gleaming unnaturally up at her in the dim alleyway.

Nalia's fists tightened. She swallowed hard, and lifted her head a little to glare at him. "You're a brute," she growled.

He laughed. "Aye." He lowered the sword. "Must be nice, being born into a situation where ye can steal fer others instead of fer yerself, _noble girl_."

She stiffened. "You can tell I'm-?"

He raised a brow. "Yer practically wearin it on yer sleeve."

Nalia crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, I am not oblivious to my good fortune," she scowled. "It is why I endeavour to help_ your_ kind whenever I can."

Montaron raised a brow. "I'm presumin' ye don't mean 'smallfolk.'"

"Of course not." She turned bitterly away. "There are plenty of wealthy halflings and gnomes, I'm sure; in proportion to their populations. I meant the less fortunate. People who live in poverty."

His eyes narrowed. "Of course ye did."

Nalia felt his fingers, firm as iron, as he grabbed hold of her arm and yanked her backwards onto her butt in the filthy alleyway. A sharp hand on her hair yanked her head backwards. "St-!" A knife- a different weapon- came up against her bared throat, and she cried out in astonishment.

"Shut up," he spat harshly in her ear, his forearm tight against her clavicle.

"Why would you do this!? I've only ever helped-!" she wasn't used to being so easily surprised. How had he moved so quickly and innocuous-?

"I said to shut up." The knife pressed up against her neck, and Nalia's eyes widened when she felt pain and the sensation of moisture. A stunned, instinctive quiet came over her then, blotting out her altruistic entreaties and higher awarenesses with a sudden, animal sureness that he could kill her. _Danger. _The awareness of it tingled through her like a force: raw, substantial, uncultured, primal danger

She didn't dare breathe, her eyes darting fearfully to what she could see of his face.

"Dinnae patronize folk by makin' em out to be poor, stupid victims, like puppies tha' need yer lovin'. They won't respond with loyalty ta tha' sugar-coated shit. There be only two 'kinds' o folk in the world, rich girl," he growled. "Thems with blood in their veins, and them what has none. And unless ye want ta be the latter, ye'll come ta respect that fact."

She licked her lips. He loosened his hold slightly. "Why would you think you'd have to scare me? I'm reasonable! I know persons from the slums aren't somehow lesser people!" she protested. "I know that it's just a matter of coincidence that they were-!"

His fingers closed around her trachea and larnyx and she choked off as the knife trailed up to her cheek and cut a shallow mark over her face. Her lips parted in horror. This wasn't just a power play- he was honestly marking her! How could he- why would he-!?

"Nae, girly, ye listen a second time and bet yer little ass there won't be a third," he told her. "I ain't beneath ye in any manner but in inches. We both got red insides. The only difference between us is a matter of power." His knife blade trailed over her nose and lips, scratching without cutting flesh. "Ye've got the power of a fancy name: what yer ma and pa gave ye. I've got the power of a dagger at yer face: what my ma and pa gave me." The tip of the knife rested below her eyelid. "But we're carved o' the same meat: we fuck, we bleed, we sweat, we eat, we shit. Don't ye ever look down on a man who's got any power over ye he ain't afraid ta exercise, be it names or knives."

She didn't speak.

He smirked against her temple. "Good. Least _summat_ finally shut ye up. Ye might even make it through this night." The knife left her face, trailing down her throat until it reached the top of her clothing, and slit through the tie of her cloak."The second I mentioned I knew ye were noble born, ye shoulda turned and _ran_. Ye've a name, girl, and a father somewhere with cash I'm bettin. Ye gave yerself away in the Temple District, and then were _stupid_ enough to follow me out of the guarded districts and into the Slums. D'ya realize I led ye here on purpose because ye'd be helpless? D'ya comprehend what I could do ta ye here? Ransoming ye comes ta mind, but most men can be more creative than that."

His blade slit down, cutting through the ties of her blouse as her eyes widened

"A man in the slums, girl, he wonder's what a pretty, clean, virgin noble girl's cunt feels like." The tip of the knife dipped into her brassiere. "And so do all his twenty friends, who'd all like ta try her out too."

A hard swallow passed visibly down her throat. Her arms were quivering.

Montaron chuckled. "Go back home where it's safe rich girl." He removed the dagger and threw her roughly into the uneven ground. Nalia shuddered, her fingers clenching against the slime. "Be glad I were feelin generous."

...

* * *

For anyone who didn't notice, I feel obliged to point out I drew Korgan x Jaheira fanart.


	33. Long Lessons

[Author's Note]

1\. If you haven't seen it yet, checkout "Snapdragon Household" on my deviant art, which is a hypothetical 'Tallix brought Gorion home to meet her (gigantic) family' piece. And it's huge. The best thing I've ever done :) Evil halflings. Evil halflings, everywhere.

2\. I also did Korgan being saucy. Because reasons.

3\. I have had to come to emotional terms with the fact that this story's scope is ridiculously sprawling and it'll just take a million years to check up on everyone always. I couldn't write a narrow plot to save my life, and I'll one day accept that as a good thing XD

4\. This chapter contains flashbacks from an unexpected perspective :3 Cause Backstory is fun.

...

* * *

_**Long Lessons**_

_**...**_

* * *

Tallix danced down the hallway, swiping through one of the mummies' spines with the arc of her blade and continuing on to slash effortlessly through the next's. She had a scarf tied temporarily over her face and her hood pulled low. The undead reeled and bent awkwardly under the weight of their unsupported upper bodies, and their thin skins and bandages began tearing and stretching open. With hard bursts of noise, the dead ones exploded into clouds of dust laced with mummy rot.

Behind her, Gorion flung another fireball into waves of oncoming skeletons and zombies, and then quickly threw up a wall of force as bones exploded into flaming shrapnel that shredded the walls of the tomb.

Tallix cut down the third mummy and then cast her darkvision down the hall. "We've got opened caskets on this side too," she called. "The lich got nervous last night!"

"Good!" Gorion supplied as he dispelled the wall of force. "Less spells prepared for today!"

"Means she gonna hear us commin!" Tallix disagreed. "We still need ta find a way ta get the jump on her! Rule of thumb lad: ye never face a wizard in a fair duel, ta say nothing of wizard lich in her own bloody den!"

"That's-" New: A sudden freezing temperature, and a familiar if uncanny sensation. Tallix dropped her weight and spun about, and tossed her shortsword to get it into position. "_T!_" he called, alarmed. The shadows between the two of them rippled as Gorion stumbled backwards. Long black fingers stretched out from the walls and across the cobbles.

Tallix snatched the shortsword blade up raw between her fingers, cocked her arm, and threw. The sword pinwheeled in midair and then sank blade-first into a somewhat abstract and incorporeal entity.

A scream crashed through the room: a sound like wind, wolf howls, tree branches, and leaves on an autumn night. The stretching 'claws' disintegrated, the Undead Shadow she'd hit perished in a small hot burst of orange light, and Tallix's shortsword clattered innocently to the ground.

Gorion took in a sharp breath to steady himself and then knelt to pick up the weapon. "That was a masterful reaction," he complimented, and then frowned as his fingers closed around her short sword's hilt.

"Thank ye," she sighed, relieved, as she came back to join him. "Thought fer a second we were gonna have ta treat ye fer life drain."

"This is a holy weapon," Gorion discerned. "I can feel the songs of the Heavens just in touching it. This- it doesn't bother you to use this? I would presume it might try to reject your touch."

Tallix chuckled and took the weapon gingerly from him as they started down the hall. "Stings a little, but nae like it ought. Death comes in all instruments, nae just scary black ones."

The aasimar glanced at her as they walked. "This has something to do with how you were Chosen?" Her phrasing- mentioning 'Death' so openly- did not seem coincidental.

She cleared her throat and didn't look at him. "Ah. Aye."

Gorion hesitated. "Bhaal is dead. His blessings still work?"

"Some of the boon lingers, aye," Tallix agreed. "Some parts of it linger more tenaciously than others. I wager either some of its written in me bones by now, or else Cyric's obligated to uphold it by some some archaic god rules."

"Ah." He sniffed in a breath as undead began cackling excited at their nearing voices. "This sounds like a topic for later. After, of course, our plans have been fully realized."

A halfling smile deviously at him, more than a little relieved. "O'course."

...

* * *

Tallix was running at full sprint. The zombie dragon, not twenty paces behind her, was vibrating with the effects of a wholly unexpected _Improved Haste_. She hit an intersection, kicked off the far wall, and bounced into the new hallway to keep running. The dragon slammed into the wall behind her, shaking the ground and sending crushed stone exploding from the impact sight.

The hit was so hard that it cracked into the stone casing where the tomb's reinforced foundations lay. Holy light blazed out from the holes, a containment measure designed to keep everything which might reanimate within the tomb from ever escaping.

The dragon remained single-minded in its pursuit, and did not roar in pain. It resumed bounding after Tallix like some stiff-legged deer, while patchs of flesh on its face and body blistered, oozed, and smoked.

Tallix was headed for a small alcove of sarcophagi. "Tag!" she shouted jovially as she sprinted under the entry archway. The zombie dragon was so close behind her that it could have extended its neck and brushed her cloak tail; Yet, as it it passed under the archway, a portcullis dropped down upon its scaly hide and pinioned its thick bodyto the ground.

Tallix ran clear up the far side of the alcove, sarcophagi and all. She flipped, toed the ceiling, and landed on the beast's head with her shortsword blade facing downward.

_SCHLUNK._

Gorion had stepped out from the side of the alcove and was ready to use one of their clerical devices that he might call holy light down upon the behemoth. The zombie's thrashing tail collapsed behind it with a thud. He waited, tense, for a moment, but it did not move again. One more problem they could cross off their list. "I get the next one," he insisted. "You've had too many."

Tallix stood up slowly, grinning and wiping her forehead. "I ain't done this in awhile," she chuckled with a stretch. "I think I'm gettin _tired_. Och. Hurts my pride summat awful."

He gave a roll of his eyes and lifted up the keystone they'd discovered for controlling the gateways. "For the next hour, you are to remain at my side and do nothing more exciting than stab anything that tries to touch me," he informed her. The gate began to raise, and he turned to see Tallix striking an absurdly heroic pose. "... Okay. I'll bite. What are you thinking, old hag?"

"Oh nothin. Just contemplating me new mission ta protect yer nubile body from bein 'touched' by unsolicited appendages," she explained.

Gorion sighed in contented exasperation. Raunchy halflings really were a splendid way to take the mind off of bleaker concerns, and his seemed to have resumed functioning properly.

...

* * *

"This is it," Gorion whispered, his eyes still blank white as he made use of his Arcane Eye for scouting out the lich and how she had positioned her minions. "We are behind her lines." Gorion had teleported the two of them through a thin wall.

Talilx nodded. "Ready to go?"

"Wait," he murmured and made sure to scout more carefully. "She has something." His brow furrowed, and then his blind eyes widened. "A half demon. A Vrock."

"Those the big evil vultures?"

He nodded. "Eight feet tall and has a sword. A death knight, maybe?"

"I'm going to pop it nice and anticlimactic like," she promised with a sure grin. He glanced in her direction though he didn't interrupt the Arcane Eye. She laughed. "Try ta find me a deathknight half-demon who takes a halfling as a serious threat." She tapped his shoulder. "Focus on gettin a jump on the lich. Got a route for us?"

"Yes," he said as he dispelled the arcane eye and blinked rapidly through the change in perspective. "And I think I have a plan for how to fight her. It's occurred to me I can most probably counterspell her on the fly."

Tallix raised a brow. "That's a lot of danger, and time lost if ye fail," she commented.

He shook his head quickly. "I glimpsed her as she was spellcasting and confirmed that I can recognize the forms she's using. I _thought_ I recognized her spellwork on the conjuration node, but unfortunately we hadn't had enough time for me to be sure"

The assassin's brow furrowed. "_Recognized_ it? What's that mean?"

Gorion looked up at her with a dismayed expression and nodded. "Her weaving's outer form is elaborate, profane, and smells of Orcus; but the basic forms holding it all together tell me she was originally trained at Blackstaff tower. The weaves are so familiar that I am nearly positive I can sabotage them." His halfling raised a brow in surprise. Gorion grimaced slightly and shrugged. "Perhaps I'd give her the benefit of the moral doubt were it not for the Vrock knight. Not everyone can end up a redeemed antihero by the end, T," he remarked with a tap on her nose.

She wrinkled the booped sensory organ in bemusement, blushed slightly, and muttered something inarticulate even at close range.

"Liches are chronic planners," he continued with a smirk, "Take half of their excruciatingly well-tailored opening spell combination away from them, and they do not adapt well. If I can counterspell her and throw her off balance, I might be able to whittle her down.

"Alright. I like this plan," she concluded. "Ye dinnae even have ta fight her. Go bare minimum protection and have her waste time trying ta dispel or overwhelm ye."

He frowned. "But if I don't press to make an advantage..."

She shook her head. "Lemme tell ye about how I down big mages. I always hire a dyed-in-the-wool abjurationist; some kid who has lost just enough of his green to stand up against a master for a minute or so."

His brow furrowed. "How does that help?"

She shrugged. "A mage'll always presume their most important opponent is the enemy mage. If I went alone, they'd be targeting me. I take a turtle with me and keep to the shadows afirst, my target will waste her or her time in a dispel trench war, 'till their short-term protections fade. Once I dinnae see the telltale gleam of that _bugger-all_ Immunity to Magic Weapons, I can assure ye that me mark won't be castin again- ever- and I dinnae care how many skins of stone he or she be wearin. O course, if the abjurationist keels over on me, I can just walk away and come back later when half the protections are down. Name me a wizard who prepares two of everythin' cause his opponent did a tactical retreat once the fight started?"

"That's cheating," Gorion accused with interested eyes. "And brilliant. So that's it: I handle the lich until her preliminary defenses are down. Then we switch roles and you destroy her while I eradicate the fodder."

She raised a hand to confirm the plan, and he grasped it firmly. "Dinnae keel over on me," she told him.

He grinned as he stood and gestured for her to follow. "Don't flirt with me mid battle, then, old hag."

"Tch! I've flirted with ye mid battle since the day I met ye. Ye ain't keen on turning red out unto your ears anymore, so I reckon yer used ta it. Nae excuses!"

He hushed her with a grin, and they hurried along to make their stand.

...

* * *

[Twenty-Three Years Ago (Three years before Aegis' Birth) - Moonsea]

_The summoner was chanting again, her hands flicking through the motions of a spell as she grasped for yet another pouch of freshly prepared spell components. Seemed the idiot broad had given up trying to hit him- Ha!- and was now relying on pets to try and save her yellow skin._

_Montaron glanced down from his hiding position as he thumbed his knife._

_Quick decision: should he retreat? It might take longer to down the mark now, sure; his dearly departed partner (snerk) had roused her suspicions and blown their cover. Still, he was patient, and no one was ever untouchable. A blade now, a scrape from a rusted nail at the warehouse, or a garotte in an alleyway; w__hatever worked. Main problem now was cash- they weren't paying him for this bloody favor (impeccable timing, that), and he wouldn't get another mark 'till it was done._

_Horned skeletons came rushing past his hiding place, as the summoner mistook his whereabouts. A quick smirk tugged at his face: 'Answers me question'._

_He picked his way across the rafters. She still had that pearly shield against arrows raised. But with all her other defenses down and her contingencies spent, that olive throat of hers was handsomely exposed._

_'Not close enough to get the jump straight on her. Fine.' He swung himself to the ground and rolled in silence. As he stood, his knife went deep through those pretty scarlet robes, down to the emaciated shape beneath. The tip found her kidney the way another fool's hadn't, and he twisted._

_Her voice elevated, but she didn't scream; and that's when he realized he was in trouble. He grabbed her arm, hauling her off-balance with the pain he'd inflicted, but she managed those last syllables of Draconic._

_A roar. Shit._

_He threw his arm across her neck, and he opened a smile in that yellow neck. He wasn't fast enough. She didn't die fast enough. When *something hit him,* it hit him hard._

...

* * *

_He rolled instinctively to get out of the way, but the thing she'd summoned behind him managed a glancing hit._

_'Glancing hit.'_

_He was aware of the shock of the impact, the sensation of motion, and then being wet and twenty-paces removed from his start position. Where was he? In trouble. Deep, deep, deep trouble. He'd hit a wall, and his orientation was spinning like a child's top. No! He had to get his head up!_

_Owlbear._

_It was an owlbear which had hit him. The wetness he felt was his own blood, and he was dripping in it so thick that he could scarcely see. The beast's hooked talons had gone through his armor like hot knives through butter. He tried to rise, but his arms were weak and quaking violently. The owl bear roared at him, bounding on all fours across the tremoring old floorboards._

_'Get up! Get up, you are going to die!'_

_But then (thank Bhaal) the mage must have given up her ghost. Must have, because the owlbear shimmered away into dust just a few seconds before it could reach him; vanished mid-roar._

_Montaron sagged in disbelief, still shaking, still dazed. Then he realized it wasn't dripping blood that was obscuring his vision._

_He couldn't see out of the left eye. Not a whit._

...

* * *

_Pain. Three days later, and still nothing but pain._

_Specifically, the pain was a constant, scalding throb. It ran from the crown of his head to his chin, and down his throat and chest to past his hip. That's where he'd been hit:_ everywhere_.__ And the wounds burn, they did; burned with flesh no longer there, scooped out by the claws of a thrice-damned *owlbear*._

_It could have been worse, easily. He could have been- should have been!- dead. He'd been hit once, only once, but that was all it ought to have taken. But he'd lived._

_So he'd tied himself up with strips of his own cloak and stopped the bleeding, or slowed it at least. And he'd staggered every step of the way home, knowing nothing and no one would save him if he couldn't get his ass in that front door. He had made it, and had passed out covered in his own blood on his mother's front doormat._

_Thank Cyrrollalee for older sisters. They were a pain, yeah, but the good sort._

_So he was alive, yeah._

_Except the owlbear had hit him in the head. And, his sisters had confessed once he'd woken up and calmed down, the claws had hit his eye._

_An eye. A thrice-damned *eye.* An ear, a finger, even some toes; he could have maimed or lost any of those things and been fine. Hell, he would have given up one of his own damn balls now that he thought of it! But an eye? When everything he did required accuracy of judgement? If he had lost vision in that eye (Please, please not!) he would not be able to work. He'd risk fumbling even as a pickpocket. A dead eye was a job down at the docks, fishing or mending nets with everyone else's useless sons._

_No, but they didn't know for sure it was gone yet. They didn't know, and wouldn't know, until his injuries had healed in full and the bandages could be removed, which meant he might still end up able to see...! __The eye was being kept covered and clean of sewage grime. If it got infected, he'd lose it. The longer he kept fevering, them more likely it was he'd lose it. He couldn't lose it, not broke as he was._

_The not-knowing of the matter was fucking torture...!_

_..._

* * *

_'Sullen,' the girls had called him. 'Moody.' Yeah, they'd have been sullen and moody too in his shoes, and a more than a mite homicidal what with the headache pounding in his temples. He wasn't sick, exactly, but he wasn't well, either. His wounds ached, and his head pounded, and he could feel his pulse in the heat around his covered eye at all times._

_Three weeks he'd been bedridden, and they'd told him over and over again how lucky he was to be alive at all. Pfeh. Luck? That hadn't been luck. That had been poor foresight followed up by grim determination. The only matter of 'luck' involved was on the subject of the eye healing, and he'd been sick far too long for things to look hopeful._

_When he was first able to stand, he took up chores around the house. It didn't matter how weak or lightheaded he felt; relying on his mother's charity chafed him something awful. Snapdragon women had a reputation for attracting deadbeat men. No, that would never be him, gambling away his sisters' earnings as if he were entitled to them. So every day drew closer to that moment where they'd find out if he'd lost his depth perception, and whether he was about to start earning his keep like old folks, imbeciles, and drunkards._

_Their Auntie (the only one who counted) had lost an eye once, not that she ever told that story. He wondered how she'd coped with it. Had she'd been lucky enough at the time to have had cash saved up to deal with it? Or had she somehow picked herself up again later? Clerical services did not come cheap, and this job was a favor that had been called in at a shit time. He was broke._

_Stupid. Foolish._

_He'd have to ask her whenever she came back (a week or a month this time?), and try to get a straight answer. Maybe if the eye was gone (please, Yondalla...) Auntie would have some advice to give him._

_A wave of pain him and he bit his lip through a moan. He lifted a hand but then dropped it again and clenched the fingers into a fist. Best he didn't press at the injury, as it never helped. There was little he could do but try to focus on something else (anything else) as he struggled through the debilitating agony's rise and fall. Gods, but at least he'd been expecting it. It had been cresting over him in what could damn-near be called 'episodes.'_

_Montaron got off the couch, shuffled over to the kitchen, and he poured himself a cup of water. He hadn't been able to sleep. Not since the fever broke. Scarcely a pair of hours crept by that he wasn't assailed by pain. It was at it's worst during the day, when he ought to have been asleep, when all his *siblings* were fast asleep in their beds, all curled up with their too-numerous-spawn and their worthless 'menfolk.' Groggily, he found his way back into the main cottage room, and squinted irritably at the bright warm light trickling through the front window._

_Was bloody unnatural: a diurnal Snapdragon. But the light was warm. He shuffled back over to his couch, and sprawled down under the rays. The little temperature boost did wonders for his mood after a moment; at least he didn't feel nauseous anymore. Perhaps he'd been wrong, and perhaps the pain was best during the day, when no loud voices hammered through his skull as he tried to get back to sleep..._

_..._

* * *

_A sharp, hard knock came at the door._

_He jerked conscious with a start, and than snarled viciously at the pain in his skull. How long had he been asleep this time? He felt even more haggard then before he'd dropped onto the couch._

_Another knock came and he swore bitterly to himself. Best he get his ass up before anyone else woke and started talking. Who would come calling on them during the day? Hopefully not trouble, though he scooped up the front door crossbow as he went. He took a deep breath, and then drew the deadbolt and eased the door open._

_He relaxed almost immediately. "Auntie." Speak of the devil: The woman's cloak was unmistakable, if one only knew what to look for. She was back, then. That was something to be excited about; he could ask her for her advice._

_"Montaron, let me in quickly," the woman told him, and he quickly settled the crossbow back down and obliged her._

_"Are ye in some trouble or-" As she entered the house, he smelled it: blood. Just a whiff, but he had the nose for such things. He straightened to look at her (when had he ever seen Tallix injured in all his life?) Then he shut the door and bolted it. "What happened?" he asked quickly._

_"Heh. 'What happened?' he asks," the old woman muttered to herself. She had something in arm, he saw, and when she shifted her cloak aside, he could scarcely register what she revealed. "This happened."_

_"That is a baby," Montaron informed her stupidly._

_"Ye've a cousin," Tallix responded._

_Montaron gaped up at her, and then down at the newborn redhead cuddled up in her arms. "H-how in the nine hells did-?" He tilted his head to the side, baffled. Montaron himself was forty, and he was his mother's youngest child. He looked back up at Tallix. "Can... can I hold her?"_

_"Yes," the older assassin murmured almost giddily. She stepped forward, offering the little bundle to him._

_Montaron was the only one of all his siblings who had never voluntarily cared much for babies. He doubted this was because he lacked younger siblings; his sisters were certainly happy enough to dot the place in neices and nephews. Twerps who cost a lot, ate a lot, and made an awful racket. And pooed. Everywhere. How many diapers had he been conscripted into changing over the course of his life? Bleck. No, Montaron had no interest in babies- But this? This was entirely different. This was not a baby: This was... was... this was a Tallix-Baby, of course._

_He took the tiny red-haired critter up in his arms, and she wiggled a bit. Her skin was still ruddy from birth, and she was beautiful._

_"What happened?" he repeated._

_"She were born on the road. In that thunderstorm yesterday. In a log." Tallix sounded somewhat hysterical. "I think I need a change of clothing."_

_Montaron looked incredulously up at his aunt. *She* __had only one eye, he recalled stupidly, because it was staring eagerly down at him now. "What... what are ye gonna do with her, then?" he asked about his new cousin._

_Tallix fell quiet, as if coming down from some crazy sort of high. She looked off at nothing for a moment, and then frowned puzzled back at him. "I have no idea," she admitted, and she looked more lost and vulnerable in that moment than he had imagined she could look. "But a word from the wise if ye ever find yerself fancyin an elderly hin: eighty's apparently not too ripe for a goatskin sleeve."_

_Montaron was quiet for a moment. So was Tallix. Then both began to grin almost simultaneously, until they were barely suppressing giggles._

_"Y-you-" Montaron couldn't hold in a cackle any longer, because his aunt apparently had a sex life, and with it she'd made a bizarrely mundane mistake! "D'ya realize half the family's nae even sure if ye *like* men?" he asked in a crow._

_"Ye nasty little toad!" The older halfling laughed back, throwing an arm about his (unwounded) shoulder and squeezing him to her. "C'mere! Muah!" She smooched his temple. "By the three, ha! Gods, what a week! I'm a mess...!"_

_"What's- what's her name-?" the younger halfling breathed past laughter, bouncing the little child as she started to fuss._

_"Anaxa," Tallix told him. "Her name's Anaxa. Ha! Look at me, spazzing all over the place like a spring chicken. You, lad, what the hell did ye do ta yer face?" She touched the bandages gingerly._

_The question might have sobered him, but Montaron was still trying to digest the ludicrousness of how the person whom he'd most strongly identified as a father figure had somehow accidentally ended up a mother. At this age! "I have a cousin," was his answer, and though he'd always had little to no interest in any of his own nieces and nephews, wee little Anaxa was love at first sight. "I can leave off complaining for a minute or two longer."_

_..._

* * *

_Everyone wanted to see the baby. Not just because it was a baby, either, though that would have been reason enough in any halfling household. And neither just because she was a particularly adorable baby, which she was! This baby was special, for it belonged to the world's least likely mother._

_In listening to his sisters, Montaron wagered everyone expected Tallix would leave the child with their mother. It had them excited. Auntie had always been a loner, which everyone had always found peculiar (everyone but Montaron; it was his favorite part of her), but she was a pillar of their family. The money Tallix brought home to them (at least once a month) was a strong source of their lifeblood, after all, and had certainly earned her the girls' mothering expertise._

_Anaxa was at the center of at least thirty people (if one counted the ankle-biters), and Montaron was almost jealous. Amusingly enough, it seemed Tallix was, too. His aunt affected an aura of unmoved disinterest in all the people clustered about her, but Montaron saw she was watching that baby like a hawk._

_His lips quirked knowingly: That was his Auntie, 'aloof' only if one didn't know how to look. Some people just didn't need to be the center of attention._

_"Who is the father?" a sister asked._

_Tallix shrugged. "A cute redhead out of Calimshan."_

_The answer irked Montaron, though he couldn't exactly place his thumb on why. Perhaps it was just a usual case of wondering why his family members were so chronically bad at picking useful lovers. Or, ya know, ones who'd wrap their damn equipment._

_..._

* * *

_The room was quiet as their local healer slowly unwound the bandages from Montaron's face. Quiet. Somber. Grim, even. He wasn't certain if he was even hopeful that the eye might work, anymore. Perhaps he'd given up? Or perhaps he merely felt numb, but the real knowin would wound him all the same._

_"Alright," the healer said after the pressure was removed. "Try to open it?"_

_'Yondalla, please.' He opened the eye, but saw swirls of gray. A grimace came to him immediately. He shut the good eye to better see if he could make out anything with the injured one. This was bad. He could make out lighting levels and the gist some objects, but there was no color and everything was foggy._

_Eyes didn't get better over time. Not after the initial healing was done with._

_He lifted a hand and ran it up the length of his face. "Fuck."_

_That was that. Unless he managed to convince someone he was still worth his pay- a hard thing to do in the paranoia of Zhentil Keep- he would not get another contract. Even if he got one, there would be no sure promise that he could execute on it. Without a contract, he couldn't get the cash to mend the eye._

_So that career was... over._

_(If he was lucky, if they let him leave, if they didn't keep demanding a tithe)._

_His mother reached out to touch his hands reassuringly, and to say something about staying at home for awhile, but he pulled back from the contact and didn't listen. Stay at home? He'd need a job. The sooner the better. Even if it just bought him space to think._

_He headed over to a window to sulk in the rising light of dawn, since it wasn't much of anyone else's favorite place to be. He wondered how much it had cost his family just to keep him alive. He wondered if perhaps they'd used money he himself had earned for them. They bid the healer farewell, and his mother left him be and headed off to bed._

_Tallix, near as he could tell, stayed. She was silent for a few minutes, before supposing: "Yer out of cash, then?"_

_"Could pawn my things," he reasoned, trying to work out an angle now that the pain of the moment had passed. Things would be fine, somehow. Just a setback. "Might be able to get enough."_

_She snorted. "Ye just killed a Thayan," she noted. "And somehow ye don't have cash?"_

_Was he surprised she knew that? Maybe not. __"I was under orders," he told her. "Ye accept favors, and then ye owe them back."_

_"Aye, each of them a shackle at a time," she growled sternly. "Eighty million times I must have told ye nae ta join. 'Zhentil Keep' this may be called, but there's a thousand ways ta earn a living here by night or day. And ye, ye pick ta dive straight inta bein a paid assassin? Nae even just a mercenary? Yer a fool."_

_His arms shook. __"O yeah, lob yer criticisms at me ye old twat, fer bein near full identical ta *ye*!" he spat, whirling on her. "I've even lost the same damn eye, fancy that!"_

_Tallix stood at that, shoving back her chair and striding forth to loom before him. Her hand lashed out for his throat before he could so much as spy it, and she dragged him forward to look at her with a glower written sternly upon her face. "Ye think yer my equivalent boy?" she asked darkly. "Ye are not. Ye never will be. Dinnae forget *who* taught ye how ta kill."_

_Montaron grabbed at her arm, but he did not cow at her grimace. __A frustrated, angry expression rose in his face. __"I-!"_

_"I am a *thing*, boy. One which lurks about in the background of a world I'll never full belong to. Affecting nothin. Changing nothing. *Meaning* nothin, and havin little worth havin." His brow furrowed in surprise; he'd never heard her speak like this. "Ye are more. Ye have every opportunity I never had, and everything anyone here knew how to give ye. Ye had a thousand chances to get out of this hole, and to be bloody anything ye damn well wanted. And yet despite all me warnings, ye sold yerself inta indentured slavery. Fer what? Fer coin?"_

_"Same blood's in my veins," he spat, surprised at how little he was able to budge her arm. How was she so strong, at her age?__ "Ye set the example!"_

_Her good eyed widened. "I never wanted this for ye!" she thundered. "I said so! How many times did I say so!? Ye claim the same blood as mine, and then dinnae listen to my warnings about the foolish shit it'll make ye do!?"_

_"As if you *get* a say!? First off, ye cannae come home with that much money and not expect at least one of us to want to be able to do the same. And secondly, how can ye think ye get ta show up naught but once a month and dictate how I-!"_

_"A say!? Are you- Of course I- Baalor's balls, __Montaron! __SHUT UP! How can ye be oblivious ta the fact that ye are and always have been the closest thing I have to a son!?"_

_Montaron stared at her, lips parted in a sneer he no longer felt. Tallix looked equally startled. She watched his face with puzzlement for a moment, or as if she were slightly hurt. Then abruptly she released his throat, turned away, and walked quietly across the living room. She fell into one of the armchairs as if exhausted, and was quiet._

_He stared after her, confused by her outburst and still somewhat unsteady. Then when she sat, he watched the armchair. But she said nothing. A silence passed between them. Some kind of ice had been broken, though. He stepped forward hesitantly, and rubbed at his arms._

_"... Would..." He didn't even know if she had the means, but hearing her say something like that... "Would you help me?"_

_"I'm not much for helpin people who don't help themselves," she responded._

_A shoddy work ethic wasn't once of his vices. Nor did he have his mother's weakness for poppy. "What would ye have me do?"_

_"I don't want to steal favors from ye, stupid boy. I want ye ta get out of this whole business." She took in a slow breath. "But ye never listen, and ye'll sell those favors to someone else; dig yer grave deeper fer one more chance at being summat." She dug out her pipe, and made to light it. "So I'll help ye. Once. And ye'll do exactly as I ask, or I'll wash my hands clean o you entirely."_

_"The payment fer the healin is steep," Montaron told her. "Can ye even-"_

_"Dinnae underestimate me so many times in one conversation, lad," she growled around her pipe. "I bring back exactly what yer mother showed me she could live on without losin her head. __Ye know exactly why.__"_

_He swallowed. "... What's yer price, then?"_

_She took her time in answering. "Ye'll watch over me lass."_

_"What? If ye mean on leavin her here, all the girls'll-"_

_"I ain't keen on leavin her with Wynfein's spoilery, and I ain't leavin her ta that pride of well-meanin she-wolves either! I'm not eager ta leave her anywhere at all, but there's business I'm bein called to wrap up, and fer all I know it could take years before..."_

_He blinked, confused. "Before?"_

_"Before I can figger if it's even possible I can raise her," Tallix completed quietly, and Montaron straightened. "I dinnae want her raised by the whole family. She's my daughter; just mine. I want her under the eyes of one surrogate parent- one guardian- one person responsible fer everythin from her nappies ta her bedtime stories ta keepin me updated with letters."_

_He recalled the way she'd stared after her girl, and he frowned deeply. "Aunti-"_

_"That's what ye'll do fer me, boy. __Ye'll stay in one place playin nanny ta a tyke, like all the men ye despise, fer as many weeks, months, or years as I ask of ye. Ye won't take a single mark, nae a single job; and if yer worried about becoming rusty, ye'll practice on training dummies while she's sleepin.__"_

_He perked up and rapidly shook his head. "If I dinnae work, the-"_

_"__I'll pay yer tithe ta the Black Network the whole of the time I'm employin ye."_

_That startled him. "Ye can manage that?"_

_"Manage!" She gave a disgusted shake of her head. "Always the same with ye, Montaron, always the same. Yer mistake's in thinkin money makes people happy. Ye'll learn that one the hard way, eventually, just as I did." __She took a long draw at her pipe. "__Or else maybe yer vice'll turn out ta be greed instead of pride by the end_."

_He had heard similar words from Tallix Snapdragon every month for nigh on twenty years; but only just then, upon realizing that she inexplicably wanted to mother her own daughter and couldn't, did he really *look* at her._

_"That's my price, lad," she said. "If you agree play the older brother for Anaxa fer as long as I need ye ta, I'll fix that eye for ye by the end of the hour."_

_A silence as he considered her words. Then: "Ye have ta give me summat at the end," he told her quietly. "So I don't get tempted ta split."_

_She glanced back at him. "What do ye want?"_

_He licked his lips. "Fifty gold per month." She could have the best nanny in all snooty, rich Cornmyr for less than five._

_She took a long draw of her pipe, and released it in a smoke ring. __"Done."_

...

* * *

[Author: Present Day]

Montaron shifted. His first waking thoughts were firstly that he hungover, and second that someone was robbing him. The second was more important than the first. Muscles coiled more reflexively than consciously, and he twisted to grab at his assailant.

There was a short, stilleto rapier in his face. Nearly a punching dagger, by the looks of the tip. He grimaced and blinked in displeasure at the weapon. Then, deflating, he looked up its length to determine just how irritating this morning planned to be.

A subtle brown and green masquerade mask was glowering down at him, of the sort one might make with layers of rice or crêpe paper. The face behind it had a few healing scratches from a dagger tip. Montaron's brow furrowed in disbelief. _Ye got ta be shittin me._

"It seems," the rich girl huffed victoriously, "you're not the _only_ one who can catch a thief off guard."

"Congratulations. Do ya need me ta give ye the purse meself, or can I go back to bed?" he asked through his lovely post-drinking headache."

She bristled. "I have a blade at your neck!" she told him.

"Aye. That ye do." He tilted his head back a little, exposing more of his throat. "What d'ya suppose yer gonna do with it, mm?"

"I-I- could kill you!" she hissed.

"Kid, do ye actually have _demands_, or is this posturing all just ta boost yer bruised ego?"

Her eyes widened. "You'd mock me when I've got a blade at your neck? After what you did to me?!"

He smirked lazily past exhaustion. "Ye gonna stab, then stab, rich girl. Mind ye that ye best be fast. Wakin me up first weren't the keenest plan."

The girl's jaw tightened hard enough that she very nearly trembled. Then she seemed to remember herself, and straightened up at the shoulders. "I didn't track you down to get revenge. I want to _hire_ you," she said.

After a brief pause, he tilted his head to the side and squinted at her. "Come again?" His voice was flat, unamused.

"Like you said: It's not safe for a noble to be running around unsupervised 'playing thief.' So I want to blend seamlessly in with the slums, and _you_ are going to teach me how."

The corner of his mouth lifted in a slow, incredulous sneer. "I see I didn't rough someone up enough last night."

"No, you didn't. And you lied about why you'd led me over the bridge. If you'd intended to do anything serious you would have just done it. Instead you walked away. _Leisurely_. After making absolutely sure I saw that you had the purse."

"The feck ye on about?"

"You _planned_ scaring me, to try and get me off the streets." She was infuriatingly smug, as if she'd figured out the answer to a difficult riddle. "You'd no intention of _actually_ hurting me from the start."

His sneer twitched in a particularly unfriendly manner as his eyes sharpened. "So ye'd prefer me ta _mean_ it then, eh?" he growled.

"You already had the chance to turn me in once and didn't. That's already more than I could have asked for."

That sent all the hair along the back of his neck to bristling. There was little that got on his nerve quicker than someone presuming he was harmless, or that they had some kind of power over him because he _hadn't_ shanked them yet. "Careful what ye stirr up girl. Ye've nae idea who or what yer talking ta."

"Have I mentioned I'd be paying you?"

That _was_ something. He wrinkled his nose off to the side and moved to stand. The blade followed him. He shot her an annoyed look and then batted at the weapon "Get that outta me face," he growled, taking to his feet. "Ye've no business pretendin ye'd even use it."

"I've fought before," she disagreed, put-out by his lack of fear.

"The verb for the situation's '_killed_,' greenhorn," he growled, grabbing for the cracked water pitcher at the side table. There was no basin; he poured some into the cup of his hand to splash his face with.

The idiot noble girl sheathed her weapon. "Well?" she prompted. "Will you do it?"

"Not a chance," he growled. "Enough problems without adding in a delusional brat." He moved to grab the rest of his gear, moving irritably but as if doing so was routine. The girl thought him toothless because he hadn't shanked her yet? Fine. _This_ time, he was gonna be mean.

"Well I guess I just won't give this _back, _then."

_What? Give what?_ He still had his purse. Montaron glanced back at her, and so that the rich girl was holding up- _Imoen's Letter._ A cold tension rippled through him. He glanced up at the girl's face. "Ye might wanna reconsider that stance," he suggested with a quiet non-patience.

"I see," she grinned and then, surprisingly, spoke in Draconic: "_Maak do verin ko dii haal._" A red heat appeared around her off hand, flickering slightly as she lifted her fingers near the note.

The halfling straightened up with shuttered eyes, and a slow breath that flared his nostrils. He marked the features of the girl's face and took stock of each and every weapon, poison, improvised clubbing object, and makeshift gag was in the room. A muscle twitched in his jaw. He glanced up and down the length of her, and then rolled his shoulders back and considered her.

"You mentioned payment," he said, his voice soft and absent at least half its usual twang.

She smirked, dispelling her _Burning Hands_ spell. "That's more like it. I'm prepared to offer you all of thirty gold a month," she explained.

A tightly pressed smirk. "I'm worth twice that a _day."_

"Oh? Hmm, and yet here you are: hungover and reeking in the grossest, most mildew covered room of a slum tavern." The girl replied airily, gesturing around the inn. "Fallen on hard times? It looks like you _need_ coin, and I'm offering to donate to your 'self-actualization fund'."

His facial expression didn't change. He watched her. After a long moment, he glanced away, crossed the small room and lifted up a hand for the letter. The noble girl smirked, and placed it into his hand. He took it, and flicked through the pages with an unaffected stance.

"Well?" the girl prodded, uncertain if he was agreeing. "How about if you impress me, we'll renegotiate? After all, it's not like I'd be keeping you from doing other work. All I'm asking for is to tag along."

Montaron was quiet. He finished enumerating the letter pages, folded them up, and tucked them into the depths of his tunic. There, his fingers rested on the hilt of a knife. The appropriate incorrect impression had been made, he was close, and his possessions were secured.

_Weapon, hamstring, mouth, both hands._

He remembered a girl not much younger than this one, curled up against his side, frowning at the news that he would be leaving, with a face like sunshine and a tongue like honey. He remembered a burlap bag of sandwiches. It had taken him over a month just to admit he'd done wrong. Just to realize he wasn't too calloused to feel _regret_.

"What is yer name, girlie?" he asked as he lowered his hand.

"Oh, I- I'm Nalia," she said, blinking rapidly. Then she sounded as if she felt a little guilty, perhaps for being impolite. "Nalia de'Arnise. And you are...?"

His gaze flicked up to her. "Let me tell ye summat, Nalia de'Arnise: Be careful how you blackmail folk who have sore little ta lose, or threaten things money can't replace. Cause yer family ain't got near enough cash te make a bloke feel better about ye burning a bittersweet letter from a girl he loves, and I doubt they'd be happy gettin so many pieces of ye back in small boxes."

She stepped shrank back in surprise. He watched her a moment longer. Silence stretched between them. She seemed to be trying to figure out if he was bluffing. If he was _soft_.

This girl couldn't have been more than twenty or twenty-one. There was no reason to be lashing out at her. She was just a kid.

"Montaron Snapdragon," he supplied tersely at last. "Pleased to meet your acquaintance." The halfling gave a mock bow and then headed for the the door to go downstairs and find something to eat.

"D-does that mean," Nalia stammered, stepping hesitantly after him, "that you'll do it?"

"Up it ta fifty," he called. "That's me usual fee fer babysittin. And leave me the feck alone till I've eaten."

...

* * *

[Author's Notes]

Nalia's Wisdom is her dump stat ;)

Tallix totally handles in game liches like a good half of the PCs do.


	34. Between Legacies and Futures

[Author's Note]

The epic lich battle didn't fit in this chapter XD It'll have to come next time. I have art up! Edwin/Imoen if you haven't seen it!

_**...**_

* * *

_**Between Legacies and Futures**_

...

* * *

[Back to Aegis' group]

The dawn was always late in winter time, particularly the farther one traveled north. Ajantis woke to relative darkness and the warm-up calls of morning birds. He shifted slightly and then looked down at where Viconia was bundled up flush against him. He could see little more of her than dim light upon thick, white hair.

Ajantis rubbed his face against his forearm to dispel sleep. He settled his fingers hesitantly on his charge's arm. Then he touched her hair, petting white out of her face and filing the strands behind her ear.

_You were frightened._

He could remember, vividly, the first time_ he'd_ ever seen what drow raiders were capable of: The young folk had been missing, the elderly and animals had been butchered and mangled in the streets. Hedonistic runes had been drawn in blood and bile to praise the spider goddess. The entire village had been profaned.

Ajantis had been squiring for Sir Firecam from the age of thirteen onward. He'd been a page in the years before that.

Yet there was something beautiful to Viconia DeVir, buried under centuries of crystallized malice and fear. Sometimes he wished he could pluck her out of her own rough, like a gem. But no, and he doubted anyone one ever could. Viconia would always come in two parts: the good mingled with the bad. All that remained was a war within herself over _degree_.

Ajantis eased his shoulder carefully over his dark elf, and curled his arm about her back. He pet through her hair, and then squeezed her to himself even as he tried not to wake her.

_You trust me._

Vigilantes and mistaken law officials were one thing, but Ajantis was rather certain the person Viconia needed the most protection from was _herself_. How was he going to help her with that? He'd need to try, no matter how she lashed out or resented mention of Kissmoots. He had the odd sensation she was one of the most important characters to have ever entered his life.

The squire closed his eyes and decided to sleep for a few more hours.

...

* * *

"Edwin! _Rek'herok!_ Come look! It's snowing!"

The conjurer propped himself up slowly, easing a pillow off of his head and squinting out at how his naked partner was hopping up and down at their window. The outside world was an unpleasantly bright gray. "Oh joy," he croaked, feeling dehydrated. He licked his lips, wondering whether this was owed to the winter air, or to the quantity of bodily fluid he was expending nightly.

Not that he was complaining.

Even slightly.

Hmm.

His gaze slipped from the bouncing swell of her breast, down to the more visible curves of her posterior, thighs, and calves. They afforded a much nicer view than the window, certainly.

"We need to go out and frolic in it immediately!" she squealed, dancing from foot to foot. Her feet were small, particularly with relation to the plumpness of her other features.

"(You need to come back to bed, because I am clearly not done with you.)"

Imoen jumped and looked back at him with a startled, "Wha-?"

Edwin perked up, his eyes widening slightly at the realization he'd spoken aloud. "I-I mean-!" A heat bloomed over his face. He cleared his throat and hesitated a moment. "Er. Please?"

That was how he ended up with a cake-loving thief on top of him, with her mouth at his neck and her legs straddling his own; which was most definitely the best view he'd seen all morning.

...

* * *

"I've thought of a name!" Imoen announced as she waited patiently and inspected the old _Dictionary of the Infernal Tongue_ which Aegis had gifted to her. Aegis had apparently pocketed the book in Ulcaster to use as a birthday gift, months ago. She really was the most thoughtful sister ever...!

"For the glider?" Edwin asked, running their brush through her hair in quick, short tugs with one hand braced against the roots to mitigate snags.

This was nice. She was lucky that a bald man knew how to manage thick hair. Maybe she'd confess to liking the cosseting, and wheedle him into doing it again sometime; even though she knew her hair wasn't much fun to play with. "Yup," she hummed, glancing over at where Jackal and the sugar glider were curled up asleep in a nest made from the knitted scarf Minsc had gifted her. "I want to name her 'Coffee.'"

"Food themed names seem par for your tastes," the wizard acknowledged. "Though I pity your future children: poor Chamomile Ginseng Blueberry Yogurt, and her younger brother Strudel."

That nearly put her sides to splitting, she laughed so hard. But eek, another subject would be better for now! "I've a question!" she said, closing the dictionary.

"If you had but _one_ I would presume you were ill," the wizard replied as he settled down the brush and looked to his spellbook and notes. He turned a page. "What is your question, Kwefai?"

"Why don't you have a foreskin?"

He turned another page, unhurried.

"Edwin?"

"Oh, I am merely contemplating how _long_ it took the Monkey to ask. Quite a record for her, yes." He took in a thoughtful breath through the nose. "It is done in infancy, for the same reason Mulani took up denuding themselves of hair: Hygienic concerns in a sweltering climate."

"Huh! Hmm. Then I guess then you wouldn't know if it makes sex any different...?"

"As obviously I have no frame of reference," he completed her thought, and then lifted his hands to her hair and began to speak words of Draconic. Magic shimmered through the roots of her hair, presumably to grow it. Then nails jerked back quickly, and her wizard gave a hiss of surprise. That was _not_ a sound she liked to hear after fresh spellcrafting!

"What happened!?" she perked up in alarm, because a girl's appearance was important!

"Hedgewitch magic!" he spat, sounding more irritated than angry, and as Imoen twisted about she realized _why:_ She was now sitting in a pool of her own ridiculously long hair!

"Meep!" Her hair had always been a misbehaved disaster, but now it was a _giant_ misbehaved disaster! "Save yourself!" she squealed, picking up armfuls of hair and attacking herself with it as she flopped to the floor "Run while you still can! Fighting it only makes it stronger!"

"This lack of precision in weaving is the hallmark of an uneducated bumpkin," he growled irritably as she rolled about laughing in her hair. He stood and fetched the pitcher of water. "Hedge magic indeed. Sit up, sit up, at least it is a simple matter to cut it."

Imoen composed herself, rising to her knees as Edwin gathered up the upper length of her hair to straighten it with the brush. "I can cut it," she said, reaching for the sheers. He shooed her hand away, and began to dampen the hair.

"The last time you cut it, you ended up looking like a disheveled, pink boy," he disagreed, sliding his fingers down to the bottom of her shoulder blades. Imoen straightened up, hesitating.

"You liked it better long?"

It seemed he glanced at her. "What precisely was wrong with it?"

"Well my hair's sorta always been a mismatched, disobedient, frustrating incarnation of chaos."

"And in what fashion is that different from any _other_ part of yourself?" the wizard asked flatly.

Imoen swallowed and it felt like a lump was forming in her throat. "Oh. I... I guess I just never thought I had very nice hair."

For a moment, his hands remained unmoving against her back. Then nails slipped gently through hair, combing, gathering, and squeezing gently as if appraising it. Her eyes closed to slits as she registered her partner's mute and unexpected admission of tactile pleasure.

Hair. That was right: They _both_ liked each other's hair. More than they liked their own hair, funnily enough.

...

* * *

Imoen's hair had been freshly pinked with magic, and now hung down in neat braids to her shoulders. Edwin was still grumbling something about poorly contrived spells. This time, as he ran his fingers along his own scalp, he managed to throttle down on the length variable. Somewhat.

The thief squealed and attacked her wizard with a pounce. "Yes! Buaahahaha! Yes!"

Edwin scowled, waving irritably at her. "Get off of me, you silly woman."

"I knew it! Let me play with it!" she demanded, running her fingers excitedly through dark, auburn waves that dripped down luxuriously to his mid back.

"Do I look like an elf to you!?" he sputtered in alarm.

"Edwin! Edwin Odesseiron, you _will_ let me play with your hair!" she insisted with a laugh, and smothered her face into the back of his neck. "Just for a little bit!"

He sneered, but then lifted his head a little and considered the situation as she nuzzled happily into him. "Nh." His fingers slipped back to rest on her thigh as if assessing her proximity. Then he sighed irritably. "An hour. And there is to be no be no going outside for any reason," he added with a dubious glance at the window. _It hasn't stopped snowing..._

The Monkey cackled diabolically into his neck and kissed the back of his head as she grabbed up the brush. "Fair," she told him. "Fair, fair, fair!"

He snorted. Then, realizing he'd have to hold still, he looked around at their possessions for something to occupy himself with. There was Aegis' gifted dictionary, and the book Khelben had sent them, and then _Xzar's_ present. The necromancer had apparently once promised Imoen to write a divination primer, and this birthday gift had been his end result. It looked to be a thick workbook of explanations, pictures, riddles and puzzles that grew steadily more complicated (and convoluted). How useful it might prove in teaching _magic_ was yet to be seen; Edwin obviously could not evaluate it. Then there was Diana's spellbook, which could potentially still be mined for a few more techniques...

Behind him, his thief sounded very happy, giggling and snorting as she was; muttering happy things to herself that sounded suspiciously like 'mine.' She continued to brush through the aftermath of that poorly written spell. Edwin sighed.

"I need to ask your permission for something," he admitted, leaning back a degree into the hug of her thighs.

"Mm?" she asked, reorienting her work.

"Gorion's spellbook. I want to study it."

Imoen paused. "Out of the blue?"

He tapped his nails thoughtfully against her knee, slowly leaning further back into her lap. "Your old Harper was unable to kill the horned knight, even with his full arsenal. Which," the Red Wizard continued solemnly, "looks to have been an admittedly impressive arsenal."

His thief peered down at him, and seemed to hear everything he did not say. "You'd have to ask Ae, too. Will you be a good evil wizard about it?" she asked him as her fingers resumed combing hair back from his temples.

Edwin crossed his fingers for her to see, his expression solemn.

...

* * *

When Ajantis and Viconia reached the main tavern floor late that morning, they found Minsc bundled up in a quilt.

This was highly unusual for a man who otherwise appeared quite happy frolicking about in as little clothing as possible. Yet now his eyes were red, and he looked to be sniffling. Boo was growing fat upon a tray of walnuts.

"How!?" Jaheira demanded loudly of Aegis as she fetched back a bowl of steaming hot chicken soup from the bartender. "How is it possible _no one_ noticed he left the tavern last night!?"

"Oh shaddap ye bitch," Shar-Teel complained back, nursing her own hangover. "Ain't anyone's fault but _his_ the stupid male stumbled out into a gutter last night!"

A thunderous sneeze saw Jaheira sprayed with the very soup she was attempting to lace with herbs. Minsc apologized bashfully. Shar-Teel broke out laughing and slapped her knee.

"What happened?" Ajantis asked as he found Viconia a seat and headed over to get some food and drink for both of them. He saw Coran was present that morning, too.

Aegis sighed dramatically under the weight of leadership. "Our new archer- bless his flamboyant and lecherous heart- found Minsc sleeping under a snow drift this morning. He was kind enough to extract him and return him to us."

"Oh the honors of this rescue go entirely onto Boo," Coran corrected. "Without his remarkable interpretive dance technique, I surely would have never found the man. Much as I've spent time in forests, I must admit I never did develop a second sense for such matters... Why! Good _morning, _Lady Panther. I hope you slept well."

Coran flit over and stole a kiss from the drow's cheek, despite her irritable glower.

"You'll have to excuse me for a few hours, Aegis, Lady Panther, Lovely Shar-Teel." If he resented being stood up the night before, Coran hardly showed it. With a wink, he'd hopped off for the tavern door. Viconia stared after him in vexedly.

(In truth, the elf had noticed a disproportionate number of beggars being driven out from the woods and alleyways by the season's first snow, and he made it his aim to transfer some wealth from noble pockets into poor mens' bakery items that morning. Besides, if Viconia was upset, this would give things time to mellow.)

...

* * *

Ajantis ensured his drow was fed and watered, and then came up to speak with Aegis alone. "Someone needs to be watching Kivan," he expressed quietly.

Aegis looked up at him in alarm. "What happened?"

"He encountered Viconia in the stairwell and he was drunk. A knife was drawn, but thankfully the situation did not escalate. It could have turned out much worse."

"_Damn,_" she sighed hard.

"Well," Xan sighed, for he'd come over swiftly to listen, "Isn't it sad to realize that is actually a lot of progress from where we started with the two of them?"

The paladin swallowed. "Aegis, I... understand Kivan has been through a great deal, and his tenacious hatred of evil is admirable. But if he attacks her, I will have a very small window of time to try and save her, and his level of expertise will require I show no doubt or hesitation in the moment. My course of action will be to run him through."

Xan went very quiet, his eyes darting to their seated leader as he waited for her verdict.

Aegis sat back in her chair, quiet for a moment. "I know," she said at last, though she was not happy about it. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention. We'll try firmly reinstating the rule that they're not allowed to talk to one another." She looked at Xan "I'll need your help keeping an eye on him."

The enchanter was quiet a moment, thinking about how even well-behaved Edwins could survive in a party where ill-behaved Kivans, perhaps, could not. Then he banished these charged feelings from what was essentially an issue of Viconia DeVir's very _real_ survival. He took in a slow breath, and successfully centered himself. "Let us all do whatever we can to thwart a major disaster," Xan agreed. "Viconia needs to be ready to break off interactions with him, too. Lately, at least, he seems to require provocation."

Ajantis nodded but lingered, troubled, as Xan excused himself to go prepare a few alternative spells for the day. Their week had been eventful for a 'rest break,' and it was strange to think the Bandit Camp was scarcely seven days behind them.

"Aegis?" the paladin solicited her attention, and received it. "I... I would like to hear your opinion on something. Traveling with you has taught me life is seldom black and white; that there are always stories behind people's actions. Now I look to Helm more than ever to guide me to the right solutions. But your god is interested only in knowledge... When it comes to good and evil, what guiding force do you have faith in?"

Aegis glanced at him. Her mouth twitched. "My father's judgement," she said.

He straightened. "That's _it?__" _he asked, thinking of his own father.

"Well," she stretched, "I can only really have faith in Xzar's judgement on weekends, full moons, and public holidays."

"I see you are joking," Ajantis was disappointed, and thought perhaps he'd pen Sir Firecam instead. His mentor was a legend with regards to his ability to sift through situations of moral ambiguity, a trait which Ajantis was only just starting to truly value.

The ranger chuckled. "I figure it out as I go, Ajantis," she said, and he was startled to realize she meant it.

...

* * *

When Aegis got upstairs she found the door to the suite slightly ajar. She pushed it open and rapped her knuckles gently upon the frame to signal her presence. Kivan was sitting on his cot, watching the window and sharpening his halberd. He paused momentarily, but then continued without so much as looking back at her.

Aegis leaned there and watched him for a moment. Then she shook her head and came inside, and plopped down on the cot beside him with a heavy sigh.

"This party hasn't any idea what 'relax' means," she concluded more than complained. "And now it's already about time for us to be heading out again."

Kivan continued honing the beard of his polearm. The whetstone was methodical; each scrape was long and even. Aegis let her mind wander, and realized that this halberd was Kivan's original, blue, cold iron halberd that they'd given to him in High Hedge. How had he gotten it back? Hadn't it been seized by the bandits? Hmm...

"You know, Ulraunt's letter reminded me of some stuff I don't really know how to bring up to anyone. Like that... that when all this is over, this iron crisis business..." Aegis began slowly, for she had never been much good at stringing poetic words together, "I'll have nowhere to go. I can't go back to Candlekeep. It's weird, realizing I don't have anywhere _to_ belong. The only home I've had outside of Candlekeep's walls is with this group. These people I've collected; they're my people." She scratched at her hair, uncomfortable. "But one day we'll win and most everyone will split up. E-even Imoen and Khalid might end up going in different directions."

The whetstone paused.

"When I think about that I... I get lonely," the large girl admitted awkwardly. "Looking after people helps redirect my attention, but I'm not a leader. I stuck at the side of my parent past an age any adventurous person would have lit clear out of that library. Then again, I wasn't an ordinary child." She dropped her hands in her laps and chafed them together, smiling unhappily. "I'm worse at talking about these kinds of things than I thought."

The wild elf said nothing for awhile. Then, abruptly, he said: "I will refrain from interacting with Viconia, _Mellon'nin_."

Her sad smile pulled wider as she watched her hands. "Thanks, Kivan."

Kivan was he picked up the halberd in both hands, gently set it on the opposite cot, scooted closer to Aegis, and eased both arms around her. She looked to the wild elf, surprised. Then, with a leaked sniffle, she turned and bundled him up in a hug.

...

* * *

"So!" Imoen announced when she reached the party downstairs early that afternoon. Her hair was inexplicably longer. Edwin's was existential and grew down to the level of his chin. "I have a surprise unbirthday gift for the whole party!"

"That's absurd," Shar-Teel told her grouchily. "And I demand to open it at once."

"Good, I need your help; it's too heavy for me," Imoen giggled. She brought to bear her Bag of Holding, pulled out the neck of a burlap sack, and offered the fabric to Shar-Teel. The fightress raised a brow and tugged on it. Then she stood up and hefted an enormous sack out of the deceptively little pouch.

"What in the devil did you-?" the fightress asked, setting the bag down and opening the neck. Then she grinned, and quickly pushed over the sack. A cascade of items rushed out: iron armor and tools, gold and small gems, spellbooks, scrolls, and magical odds and ends.

Aegis straightened in surprise. "What the-!?"

"Suprise!" Imoen cheered. "This is my first contribution to our Cloakwood Preparations fund! Happy unbirthday, everyone!"

"Where did this come from?" Xan exclaimed, standing up to come over and have a look. Shar-Teel gave a pleased whistle, rummaging through the items.

"Edwin made sure I raided the Big Bad Evil Guy's Lair before the fighting got real bad, remember?" Imoen grinned. "I totally got all the shinies. And then I picked stuff off the ground too! This is what thieves are for, people: pocketing the expensive stuff while everyone else is attending to more important matters!"

Aegis laughed. _This_ explained how Kivan had gotten his halberd back!

"This is a lot of iron and gem to pawn, brat!" Shar-Teel cackled, and she mussed the pink thief's hair. "Good work!"

Xzar extracted one of the spellbooks and began to look through it. He glanced curiously up at Edwin. "This belonged to a Red Wizard."

Edwin raised a brow at the necromancer. "And?"

Xzar tossed the book casually to the table and then leaned back and stretched himself out with a smirk. "You know, it warms the cockles how sentimental you become about the possessions of your former traveling companions."

Edwin was quiet for a moment. Then he leaned over, picked up the front cover of the spellbook, and glanced at the first pages. "Brendan Tylthera." Imoen grimaced. Kivan stopped fletching and looked up. Edwin dropped the cover and pushed the tome back towards the hoard. "You'll forgive me if I conserve my sentiments, necromancer; I have, after all, so very few of them."

Their elvish enchanter looked about to say something about this, but Kivan kicked him gently. Xan stumbled and then blinked confused back at Kivan, who shook his head to discourage the enchanter.

Xzar just watched Edwin with a mischievous gleam in his eye.

...

* * *

The snowfall slowed around noon, leaving Beregost covered in pillows of white. Ajantis, Imoen, Minsc, and Branwen all ended up out playing in it. Viconia was appalled by this behavior, particularly once other people started lobbing balls of freezing powder at one another. "This is awful," she groused, pulling her hood low. "All this _white_. How can you rivvil _see_ anything?" She watched Branwen positively cream the other two with snowball hits.

Beggars had been driven out into the streets by the snow. They clustered around any establishment that provided warmth. Some of the men and women begging for coin had clearly been farmers who had suffered through the bandit raids. Others were displaced workers, some of whom were nursing ales to keep a fire in their bones. Still others were doomsayers who had apparently come up from Amn.

_"I've got to see the Dukes!" one old man was shouting. "It's a conspiracy, all of it!"_

"I am amazed," Aegis leaned over to whisper to Edwin as the group made their way to the smithy to pawn off Imoen's stolen goods. "How did you convince Imzy not to drag you into these wintry shenanigans or put ice down the back of your robes?"

"The same way I get her to do anything," the Thayvian admitted. "Bribery."

Ajantis and Imoen donated a few coins to the less fortunate as they passed, but not all men and women were so courteous, and Beregost had just gone through a very harsh and bandit-filled time period:

_"I've got to see-"  
__"Ugh, sure you do. Get away from me. I'll call the guard!"  
__"People need to hear!"  
__"Ain't you heard? Baldur's Gate is closed off. Drunkard."  
_

Aegis ended up waiting outside of the Smithy with Xzar and Viconia while the others pawned off the haul. Edwin had 'politely' informed that her tendency to drool over suits of plate mail would not benefit the prices they received. Xan, though annoyed to be agreeing, agreed.

"I've considered the matter and reached a diagnosis!" Xzar abruptly proclaimed. Aegis glanced up at him in surprise. Viconia sighed, annoyed but familiar with these outbursts.

"It _must_ be the sex," Xzar concluded aloud. "Though quality or quantity, I cannot tell. Either way, it's produced an effect similar to wine."

"Ew!" Aegis laughed and covered her face, and seeming to understand the comment immediately. "Xzar, don't!"

"Ew? Says the girl to her _necromancer,_" he gave a great roll of his eyes and then hopped up to her, twisted about, and pulled her arms across himself. "I need more spell components, dearest."

"The sort I need to raid a crypt for?" she asked, obliging him with a tight hug. He hummed. Somewhere, beggars were still having a tough time:

_"I was held against me will, I was!"  
__"Aw yah? How'd ya escape, old man?"  
__"It was the sirines!"  
__"Sirines! Cor! Listen to this!"_

"You know what's strange?" Xzar prompted as Pretzels popped out of his hood and stretched herself with a big yawn against Aegis' shoulder.

"Asks a kettle of a pot..." Aegis smiled into his hair.

"For some reason, I thought we'd run into Elminster again."

A pause. "You know, I was wondering about the same thing," Aegis admitted as Pretzels stared bewildered down at the ground.

...

* * *

"Kelben," Laeral Silverhand sighed heavily, for she was always one to be impeccably organized, "did you move my dragonscale powder _again_?"

Her lover, her fellow archmagus- and very nearly her spouse after ten years together- did not look up from his work. "Balanced on the teapot on the far shelf on the _Draconomicon__._"

Laeral eyed him with bemusement. Then she sighed with adoring exasperation and moved to pass him on her way through his cluttered office. He'd bee on the tail of some mystery and-

Laeral paused, staring down at a glass jar in which a beetle was clinging to a strand of fiber suspended over a solution of acid. "What is-?" she asked. Khelben perked up at the sound of her confusion. Her eyes widened and she dove past his shoulder for the jar. Khelben tried to intercept her.

"He deserves it!" her partner defended preemptively

"Khelben Blackstaff Arunsun!" Laeral Silverhand thundered. "You let him go right this instant!" She threw her weight back and then forward again, and the two of them went clattering to the floor like children, with books and spells and various knick knacks flying up all over the place. The glass jar teetered precariously.

"Never!" her lover proclaimed as dancing lights ended up flying everywhere from a misfired wand.

"You give him to me _right now_!" Random objects began to levitate.

"He's seen you _naked_!" Poofs of magic purple.

"He _raised_ me, you old fool! Of course he has seen me naked! He's changed my nappies!" Small winged elephants burst into being and began idling about through the air.

"No, as an _adult_!" Ink ended up spilled over tomes several thousand years of age that were, thankfully, proofed against such accidents.

"What!? Khelben you cannot roast _my foster father_ and your lifelong friend in a vat of acid!" A statue was turned into a large firebreathing dog. Both archmagi paused what they were doing to immediately turn it back, before Khelben tried to pin her down and said:

"He needs to think about what he's done!" the Blackstaff disagreed.

"_Khelben you fix him right this second or you will be sleeping in the foyer!_" She snapped up at him.

Khelben paused, considering the threat. This was, after all, his own tower. Then he winced and writhed. "...Must I?"

Laeral threw him off of her, pointed at the jar, and cast a _Dispel Magic. _

With a burst of silver sparkles, Elminster emerged from beatle-form with everything but his dignity intact. He looked incredibly haggard, and groaned in relief. "Laeral...! _Thank you._ He was being _most_ unreasonable."

Laeral clambered to her feet in a much more dignified fashion than her glowering lover. "What is all this I've heard about voyeurism?" she asked immediately of Elminster, even as she dusted his shoulders and straightened his hat.

Though he had been pale with exhaustion, Elminster immediately went wide-eyed, turned bright red, and shrank down at least three inches. "Please believe me when I say he has the wrong of it!" the archmagus begged quietly, his voice cowed to a degree Khelben had never heard it. "And, ehm, that isn't what he's actually mad about, anyway."

"Well! I demand a full accounting, seeing as no one around here seems capable of rationality or indeed sanity without me! When did this entire fight begin? Khelben, make us some Chicory."

"He can't have any."

"_Khelben._"

...

* * *

It took a few moments before Aegis realized Xzar was watching a gaggle of children as they flit past, playing about in scarves and mittens and lobbing snow at one another. She tilted her head to the side and decided not to distract him. Her Fool had a very forthcoming face. By the look of things, he found the motions and sounds to be somewhat exciting, somewhat intimidating, and all-together curious. From what little she'd gleaned, Xzar hadn't a remotely normal childhood.

Aegis smirked at her lover. "You look as though they make you nervous."

The wizard jumped slightly. "What? Well, they do. Of course they do, look at them, so small and predatory with beady little eyes. They could take out a man's kneecaps with their pointy, gnashing-!" He became lost in gesticulations for a moment.

"That makes no sense," Aegis politely informed him with a kiss at his temple.

"Oh? Oh, no, I suppose it doesn't," he admitted, tapping thoughtfully at his chin. "It might have once, though that was several thoughts ago." He looked down as Pretzels walked stiffly and confusedly through the snow around his feet, lifting up each of her paws as high as she possibly could before setting them down again. After a bit, she decided she didn't much care for this whole matter, and so she looked up at him with a plaintive mew.

"Kittens, though! I like kittens," he cackled, detangling himself from Aegis so he could kneel down and scratch his new companion's ears. "Tut tut. Look at all this scary white water! I'll distract you. Rawr!" His hand pounced the kitten, who flopped over into the snow to wrestle, bite, and kick.

Aegis watched this display with amusement, and then glanced over as Xan emerged from the Smithy, likely intending to report on how the pawning process has gone. "Xan, make a note of this," she called to the enchanter: "For best results, we must refer to all children as 'people-kittens' around dangerous wizards."

Xzar giggled excitedly and cooed silly things like: "Who is da best kitten in da world? You are! _You_ are!" in a feminine voice as he stole Pretzels' nose and rubbed her belly.

Xan raised a brow, amused, and came up inspect the kitten-wrestling. "I see that."

_"-and where'd ya get off coming here and talking bad about one of our own, shorty? Pfah! Only clean iron we saw fer months, and yas doomsayin it! Go back to whatever pub ya crawled out of-"  
__"-running yas mouth ya long-tongued lout-"  
__"-unhand me you slovenly creature-!"  
"-ha! There! crawl back under the dirt where ya belong!"_

Viconia moved suddenly, and Aegis looked up in surprise to see the drow marching off with an angry expression on her face.

"Viccy?" she asked, startled, and twisted about to try and see what had caught her attention. Beregost's streets were not precisely empty, but Thunderhammer Smithy was a few streets removed from the town center. There were only so many figures Viconia could have been watching, particularly with the bright gleam of light on fresh powder in the noonday sun.

The children, for instance; Viconia seemed to be walking straight for them. Unless she was looking at one of the beggars? It looked as though some elderly man in woefully insufficient clothing had just been pushed down by a fellow he'd approached on the street.

"Is Ajantis rubbing off on her?" If she hadn't been so perplexed, Aegis would have gone over to help the beggar herself. Then the ranger perked up. "Xan, is that old man a-?"

Her enchanter had much better eyes than her, particularly in unusual lighting. "It looks to be a dwarf," he noted. "Which is curious, but hardly worth attention-"

"She looks mad," Aegis disagreed, hurrying after the drow. Heavens forbid any more explosions...!

...

* * *

The disheveled dwarf tried to pick himself up, wiping snow and gravel off of his bared skin. Then he winced as the human followed up his insults by hocking a ball of spit at him. The crude assault missed, not that it particularly mattered. The sentiment was there: Revolted dismissal. Dismayed, he watched as the human turned and strode off. "Will no one help me...?" He lifted a hand and wiped grit from his face.

"He _smells_! Really bad!"

A chorus of nervous whispers rippled up from behind him, and he paused to try and look around. He caught sight of a gaggle of children just seconds before one threw a rock at him; and the pain of that was far more than just physical. It was enough to make him cry out. The children erupted into giggles, with a girl cooing: "Do it again! Do it again, that was funny!"

_"Xal l'jjunle d'dosst ersda're sarn'elgg dos whol nindol mithuth 'zil dosst xinanath xun naut!_"

The situation was so upsetting that the sound of the _drow_ tongue hardly registered in his mind. Then children were running amok, screaming and flailing their arms with black shadows chasing after them.

...

* * *

"Viconia!" Xan exclaimed, reaching the drowess' side and touching her shoulder.

"It is harmless," Viconia growled. "Though I will not cry if one of them stumbles into a _well_."

"I- your situation is precarious and you should not be seen casting Sharran magic on _children_," he whispered fervently. She snorted. "What even did you-?"

"It doesn't matter, and the stench of the _dwen'del_ grows repulsive. Let's-" she said, and might have turned to depart had not something caught her attention.

Xan blinked, followed her gaze, stiffened, and then slapped a hand over his face and groaned. "Oh _no_."

Aegis, it seemed, was impervious to the stench of unbathed dwarf. She'd gone up to where the beggar had tumbled, and leaned over many of her considerable inches to get a better look at him. "What do you think are the odds she will simply give him eating money and send him on his way?"

"Slim to none," Viconia admitted.

...

* * *

"Hey," Aegis called, and the dwarf jumped slightly as he turned a wary gaze up to her. He was filthy, and his skin was ruddy from the temperature where it wasn't blackened with bruises. His beard was frayed and wild; she'd never seen a dwarf's beard in such a state of disarray. She offered a hand up. The dwarf furrowed his brow at her. Where minutes ago there had still been frantic desperation for a friendly ear, now there was a quiet, almost sullen jadedness. She held her hand out a little further. "You look like you need a roof and some soup," she suggested.

He looked from her proffered hand to the elves standing nearby and the uncaring guards. Then he looked back to her face. "Aren't ye inclined ta mock and jeer like the rest of your kin?"

Aegis tilted her head to the side as she knelt, studying the stout and surprisingly proud creature before her. Her brow furrowed. "My kin- my father? He would have most likely said that one should never doubt the word of a dwarf."

He stared at her a moment. Then his big shoulders slumped, and an overwhelmed and world-weary expression slackened his face. He took the hand she offered, and her grip was strong as she pulled him to his feet.

"Come on," she suggested. "We're staying at the Juggler."

"Thank you, lass," the dwarf responded quietly, and, when he followed her, Aegis saw that he was limping.

...

* * *

"What is that _smell_?" a Red Wizard protested as he came up to investigate the matter. "Ah. I see. Valiant Leader, I regret to inform you that it seems we have contracted another severe case of Dwarf."

Aegis glanced up at Edwin with good humor, but a darkness behind her eyes suggested he shouldn't push his luck. Particularly not now that the dwarf's injuries were easier to see in the tavern light. The slashes along his arm looked like they had sealed shut naturally and without the aid of bandages or the courtesy of a wash to prevent the blood from crusting. Fresh wounds from thrown stones had done him no favors. If the way he was wolfing down food was any indication, he hadn't had anything to eat in days. "Hush," she told the wizard gently.

Edwin raised a brow but then crossed his arms over his chest and looked to Xan for interpretation. The enchanter, however, was actually pinching his nose, and seemed disinclined to put his mind to the matter.

"We found him wandering about Beregost," Viconia explained, musing with a thoughtful hand over her mouth, "where the locals presumed him an addled drunkard, spouting sooths."

"So they threw _rocks_ at him?" Ajantis protested such treatment of the mentally infirm. "Where were the Flaming Fist? Why didn't they offer aid?" Viconia gave him a sidelong look. Ajantis sighed, once more disappointed with the world's law enforcement for letting him down.

"Hogwash," Jaheira muttered sternly as she returned to them with a platter of Goodberries and a greatly improved Minsc on her tail. "Half naked dwarves do not spontaneously wander out of the wilderness in this part of the world. He came from _somewhere_."

Aegis briefly attempted to determine where in the world half-naked dwarves _did_ spontaneously turn up out of the forest with any regular frequency. The High Forest? The Silvery Marches? It sounded like an interesting place, regardless.

Jaheira set the platter down, and the dwarf took no more than a single glance at it before dropping his spoon, pushing his stew out of his way, and dragging the _Goodberries_ to himself. Jaheira straightened and shared a surprised look with Aegis and Kivan. Since when did mountain folk prefer fruit over meat?

"Disheveled, smelly, drunk dwarves do not equate to disheveled, smelly, drunk humans," Edwin agreed with a grimace. "The former is a natural state, and should not lead to the presumption of insanity. What has he said?"

"Otch, let him eat first," Branwen protested sympathetically. "Can't ye see the poor thing was molested on the road?"

"Nh," The Red Wizard slipped about the side of the table, and leaned over slightly as if to check something. "No. By the tint of red about the ankles, this one was in iron manacles. If one adds that to the whip marks..."

"The dwarf's a bandit escapee," Viconia agreed with Edwin's assessment.

The dwarf coughed and stopped nomming down on Goodberries for a moment to stare out at all of them with wide eyes. "Ye know about that?" he asked.

Xan finally snapped to attention, and stopped being a diva about body odors. "_You_ know about that?" he put to the dwarf, eyes widening. "Where did you _come_ from?"

"They've sullied me old clanhold...!" the dwarf breathed. Then his voice gained strength again and he leaned forward against the table. "It's a mine, ye see, twisted round about around in the Cloakwood. They're down there usin slaves ta dig out their blood iron! It's Anchev, I tell ye!" he thumped a fist on the table. "Rieltar Anchev and his blasted Iron Throne!"

Kivan frowned. Aegis placed her hands upon the dwarf's shoulders to reassure him and settle him down. "Shh-shh! Easy, it'll be fine."

"Ye must believe me?" he asked desperately, twisting about to look up at her, because absolutely no one_ had_. Blurting out the conspiracy in full made it sound crazy he was realizing, but how could he tell any part of the story without telling all of them? "Please, ye've got ta-"

"Not only do we _believe_ you," she said, "but we're also the ones who wiped out the bandit installation in the Woods of Sharp Teeth, and we found documented evidence of the mine _and_ the Iron Throne's involvement."

The dwarf's shoulders slumped as he stared at her. "By Clangeddin's silvery beard, girl..." A weak smile slowly tugged across his face. "Y-Ye be a _miracle,_" he laughed.

Edwin glanced at Imoen and then blinked when he realized she was looking at him strangely. He raised a brow at her. "Oh," she cleared her throat, "nothing. Just find it sorta creepy which two people identified the 'escaped slave' first, is all." He scowled, taken aback (Because what could one say to that?).

Aegis grinned and pushed the dwarf's food back to him to make sure he kept eating. "What is your name, old dwarf?"

"Orothair," Kivan interjected abruptly.

"Aye! Yeslick Orothair!" was the dwarf's immediate response, but then he straightened a little and blinked over at the elvish ranger as he tried to figure out how Kivan could possibly have known his clan name. "My... my clan's been nearly a century gone..."

"I am older than that," was Kivan's concise reply. He looked up at Aegis and then explained, much to the party's surprise: "The Orothairs were iron workers smithies that came down from the Silvery Marches many centuries ago to start an iron mine in the Cloakwood. But first, they approached the forests druids for permission to break ground. Their story is remembered because the druids supposedly told them they could cut down only seven trees, lay no stone foundations, and build no roads. The dwarves made that work, and for five hundred years offended no one."

Jaheira frowned. "I've heard a story about this. There was a great accident- some blamed Umberlee- and the mines ended up flooding from the top down."

Yeslick Orothair looked from face to face. By the expression on his countenance, the experience of hearing that his clan had been _remembered,_ for any reason at all, was very nearly overwhelming. "A-aye," he stammered slowly, and his voice caught with emotion. "That's the truth of it. Dwarves, heh," his voice lowered, "dwarves don't swim particularly well even without a waterfall atop em..."

"There was more than just iron in that mine," Kivan found it important to add. "And more than one type of iron." He reached behind himself, and drew forth his halberd. He settled the weapon down on the table before all of them, and Yeslick quickly reached forward to touch the beard. Near the shoulder of the weapon, a craftsman's brand had been etched lovingly into the cold blue metal.

That any masterwork relic of his clan had survived- that anyone in the entire world could recognize an Orothair halberd- was clearly too much for Yeslick to handle with decorum in that moment. He went silent, his face heated up with emotion, and he had to take a few minutes to compose himself.

...

* * *

[Author's Notes]

1\. "Even Imoen and Khalid might end up going in different directions."  
\- Way to show your deep love for Jaheira, Ae. Alternatively, Khalid just got admitted into a hyper exclusive club.

2\. What!? Elminster fostered children!? XD Three, actually, about 600 years ago, despite being a life-long bachelor who never wanted to procreate. The kids were Laeral, Storm, and Dove, who were aged 2, 3, and 4 respectively. They were the remainder of the Seven Sisters whom no one else wanted, and he really resented Mystra for dumping them on him. He kept trying to do his interplanar adventuring thing while he was supposed to be raising them.

In fact he was such a bad parent that he actually lost one of them because she kept running away (which is in itself riddled with mind-boggling plot holes, seeing as Scrying is Elminster's best skill outside of Knowledge Arcana. Maybe he shouted GOOD RIDDANCE, SHE'll COME BACK WHEN SHE'S LEARNED HER LESSON! and threw his arms in the air?) But then the awfulness of the story is compounded when you learn the kid was snatched up by sex traffickers and didn't end up making her way home until she'd ended up working at brothels for years.

Of course all of this was all written in a innocently oblivious and terrifyingly sexist fashion by Mr. Greenwood, and all three girls turned out as sane/generous/well-adjusted/emotionally stable as anyone else he's ever written (which, it could be argued, is none of the above). You know what? We'll forgive him for not understanding anything at all about children/women/traumatic experiences/life, and just write Elminster as having had a big learning curve/maturation story in order to become a good parent by the end. Because otherwise I'm going to have to write an academy award winning spin off Hyper-Competent-But-Irresponsible-Archwizard-Raises-Three-Children screenplay and never finish anything. Just imagine he totally broke down crying in shock the first time any of them told him they loved him and that it was totally very dramatic. ;)


	35. It's Where She Gets It From

This chapter is mostly about old people bickering with one another! Hope you enjoy it!

I've created one for this chapter that works similarly to the in-game _Khelben's __Warding Whip _by repealing protections over time, about which I've included a brief note at the end. But basically, I did this because the _Warding Whip_ is actually a completely different and sorta hilarious spell in realmslore, and Khelben was being an ass when he wrote it, so I didn't want to ruin that ;))

...

* * *

_**It's Where She Gets It From**_

...

* * *

Tallix dashed into the hall first and headed straight for the nearest ghast. She still had _Tarsalnipper _in her main hand, and the blade's holy and lifesurge enchantments were as invisible as ever. In the other hand, though, Tallix was using one of her least favorites: _Redtooth. _'Twas a splendid blade for an arsonist; not that great for an assassin. _Usually_. Except for those rare occasions when assassins actually _wanted_ to make a scene.

This time, Talix knew better then to breathe in or open her good eye as she passed through the haze of necromantic vapors. She reached her target just as it caught its first whiff of her scent and spun about to take an off-handed swipe at her. _Tarsalni__pper_ tore out its entrails in retaliation. She spun under the follow-up swipe of its claws, and brought _Redtooth_ across the front face of the thing's spine.

_Boom!_

An explosion of fire overtook the ghast with a hot, smelly pop. The odors of burnt flesh and hair filled the room, and the Vrock Knight and other undead spun about to see her. So did the lich, who had erected a cage of force around herself as she tried to fix her conjuration runes.

"Ha!" Tallix crowed. "Hey you! Ugly buzzard! I've got a good old feather pillow to re-stuff! C'mere and lemme have me way with them ugly ass wings o' yourn!"

The Vrock sneered. He sucked in a deep breath and screamed with unearthly loudness. The sound shook the ground and summon up voices from hell herself; it staggered the intelligent undead closest to it and put even the zombies to stumbling. Tallix was unharmed owed to Gorion's magical planning. She grinned, placed her flaming shortsword hilt against her hips, and proceeded to signal her innocuous intentions by making suggestive pelvic thrusts. Unfortunately, her universal greeting of peaceful harmony and everlasting friendship was woefully misinterpreted! The Vrock charged forward with his brows lowered in rage and his greatsword gleaming in green runes.

Far behind Tallix, the lich rose to her feet, enraged draconic screaming forward from desiccated and lipless jaws. Her indignant shrieks completely overshadowed Gorion's soft murmurs as Tallix's wizard stepped invisibly into the hall.

_Let's do this._

Tallix dashed forward to meet the Vrock. His greatsword fell at her with a great diagonal slash. She made to dive over it, relying on the demon's strength and fast reaction time to make her plan worked. Sure enough, he redirected the motion of his blade upwards just as she got _Redtooth_ under her. That upward momentum launched her into the air, and she kicked off the flat of the blade to throw herself clear past his shoulder.

_Tarsalnipper_ went through the Vrock's neck, her edge sliding beautifully through trachea, esophagus, jugular, and the left-hand edge of his vertebrae. Tallix felt the _lifesurge_ pulse which confirmed the kill before she even landed, but scraped _Redtooth_ against his shoulder anyway as she went. An answering bloom of heat shot up behind her.

"Ha!" she cackled as she hit the ground. "What'd I tell ye! One anticlimactically dead demon chicken, cooked with extra barbecue sauce!" The other undead were lumbering or rushing towards her.

Behind her, the lich spat out a startled curse in elvish when her spell failed to come together. Her gaze darted momentarily around the chapter Then she grabbed a pin from her shoulder and snapped it between her fingers. Instantly, an enhanced _True Sight_ spell flashed over the surrounding area, dispelling Gorion's _Improved Invisibility_ and liming him and Tallix both in Faerie Fire.

"Hey," Gorion heard Tallix mutter plaintively. "That's fekkin annoyin."

Gorion didn't answer her because he couldn't waste time in casting; his first _Dispel_ hit their adversary's force wall and dissolved it from her.

The lich responded immediately; with a gesture, she activated a host of wards, contingencies, sequences, and various other magic constructs around herself. Gorion cast rapidly as spell after spell activated around her to cloak her in a protective and glowing radiance. He could practically smell a _Spell Deflection_ and _Spell Shield_ combination coming, and if he could just apply _one_ crucial spell before it came alive-!

Gorion got off the last words and a black lash of energy struck out from his hands just as Tallix shouted. "Dodge left!" He rolled as a smoking arrow flew past him and burnt open a hole in the sleeve of his new robe.

The lich straightened. Then her eyes narrowed down contemptuously down at Gorion, who was grinning.

"That was _Khelben's Slow Repeal," _she screeched bitterly, even as the spell in question caused one of her protections to wink out of existence. "You think to wear my defenses down slowly? Ha! You give your approach away too early, _human,_ and this duel will be your death. Your mentor's techniques cannot pierce a _Spell Trap._"

_A Spell Trap? _Gorion's cocksure smile faltered as he studied the patterns of abjuration gleaming around her. _Is that a bluff? _A _Spell Trap_, if indeed she'd mastered one, would have been a pinnacle achievement in Abjuration; he knew of no bettered defensive spell in all Faerun. If this was true, _every_ spell he cast against her would fail and bolster her own magical energy.

It had to be a bluff! How else would such a powerful wizardess have failed to find Tallix and himself the evening before? Yet there was a voluminous, shimmering mantle about her that he could scarcely identify. How could he test it? His fingers were already through the first gestures before he stopped himself short with sudden indecision. Dare he waste one of his best spells and risk being wrong?

The lich saw his confusion and, rather than capitalizing on it, started laughing. His eyes narrowed. _Hmm. Fortunately, this is not a duel. _

His _Slow Repeal_ crackled behind the lich, and with it vanished a second protection. But the lich lazily raised her hands, summoning up more power from the wards around her and covering herself in a new wave of protections to replace those he'd brought down.

_Waste everything up front on me. _The old aasimar stepped backwards and began the words to a dispel attempt. The lich bared her teeth eagerly at him and began to cast an identical spell, as if knowing hers would succeed and his would fail. _Yes. Be confident. Fail utterly to even notice where I'm aiming. _

Done! He tossed his dispel blindly behind himself and hopefully stripped the Faerie Fire from Tallix as she fought and destroyed a few conjurations. The lich threw forward her own dispel attempt only a moment later, and her magic tore down Gorion's protections as if they'd been made of straw. Worse, it took his _Infravision _spell and his _Faerie Fire_ effect both, and left him very nearly blind but for faint glows of magic.

He heard a third, low snap of black energy crackle near the lich as the _Slow Repeal_ continued its job; but without proper lighting, Gorion could not determine which of her protections had gone down. She started laughing again as he stumbled sideways in blind search of the wall.

"Oh I am going to enjoy disassembling you!" she shrieked. "Perhaps when I am done rearranging the pieces, I shall send you back to your thrice-damned mentor to _spit_ upon him!"

_Madam you have a problem and I am going to capitalize on it. _Gorion found the wall and grinned to himself as he reached for his belt. _Come now. Show me all of your superiority. You look to have been elvish once, after all; I'm sure you've plenty to prove...!_

Her cackles dissolved into draconic, and she began weaving something drawn out and pretentious which sounded dreadfully unpleasant from the phrasing.

He had the wall and he knew the floor was flat; so he sprinted forward in pitch blackness. _I did not go through so much hell to die to your forgotten husk._ He grabbed up a orb from his side, one they had pilfered from the Bhaalite shrine, closed his eyes, covered his face with his forearm with good measure, and shouted the command word blindly into the darkness: _"Maulumina_!"

An explosion of light rocked the chamber from above, appearing as if to come through some celestial chasm in the roof of the room. The force could have blinded him, but it would have been nothing compared to the high-pitched and agonized shriek of the lich. He dropped the spent orb and quickly summoned up a calmer light spell to see by.

The lich, steaming from the pain of the _Sunray_, glared at him with wide eyes. At this range, he could see what was left of her pointed ears, and certainly that he'd interrupted her spell. Thank the gods, because a woman who could cast a _Spell Trap_ and make _Necrotic Cysts_ was no woman to trifle with!

But before he could determine his next action, she cast some sort of quickened variant of a spell using a single syllable. A wave of bones exploded up from the ground before her, tearing through most of his protections and throwing him to the ground a good hundred feet back. He snarled in pain and surprise, lifting his head. Then he saw the voluminous mantle upon her was gone. Had that mantle been the '_Spell Trap?' _Had the _Slow Repeal_ been able to dispel it by virtue of being cast _first_ before the Trap could intercept it?

"Tallix!" His fingers flew through the gestures for a Breach just as the lich began summoning up all her strength for what sounded suspiciously like a _Finger of Death. _He rummaged around on his person with his off hand for a golden rod from their raid which would protect him against a single death attack.

Quite unexpectedly, Tallix simply _appeared_, leaping out of the shadows of the tomb before him. Her flaming shortsword followed her out of the darkness. Her timing was fast, too fast, faster than Gorion had expected. With horror, he watched as the lich redirected her _Finger of Death_ onto the assassin.

_No! _He loosed the_ Breach_ towards the lich.

The lich finished her final syllable, and Gorion's heart rate accelerated to uncomfortable levels as the entire world seemed to grow temporarily cold. What was this? He'd seen _Finger of Death_ cast before, and the spell had always seemed frighteningly mundane in appearance. Just a gesture of the hand- nothing more- and the victim simply collapsed. But now, _now_ he saw an enormous, skeletal, ebony fingertip stabbing down out of the nether and lancing straight towards its intended victim. His eyes widened.

The _Breach_ hit the lich, and took effect. The _Finger of Death_ impaled his halfling. And Tallix stepped free of the impalation as if oblivious to it, murmured a trigger word in Draconic, and plunged both short swords straight up through the undead woman's belly and into her chest cavity.

_Boom_.

Gorion watched, mute and trembling violently, as the lich crumpled down into a pillar of fire and the giant ebony finger retracted. He loosed a hard breath. Then, shaky and uncoordinated, he rolled over and looked up to see undead minions shuffling in his direction. A mummy was very nearly standing directly over him, and it was reaching for his face.

The words to _Burning Hands_ came to his lips, but they turned out to be unneeded; for these undead had been _conjured_ as opposed to raised, and they'd been tethered to the will of their master. As the lich died, both the mummy and the other undead following it dissolved away in a soft flash of magical light.

Gorion slumped to the ground with a groan for a moment. Then, painfully, he pushed himself up to his knees. It felt as though at least one of his ribs had been busted.

Tallix trotted back to him, holding the lich's head with one gloved hand stuffed up through the jaw and controlling it like a puppet. "Death! Destroy!" she mocked the lich's high strung voice. "I'm the better student than you and have risen above our master, neheheheh!"

"Oh," the aasimar protested with a grimace and a facepalm. "Gods. Put that _away_ you horrible hag."

She cackled and leaned in to smooch his temple- thankfully _not_ with the lich's lips- and then tossed the head aside. "Ye need ta come over and have a look at this undead bint; might that she's got some nice trinkets worth lootin-"

He threw an arm around Tallix and dragged her backwards into his breast, burying his face in her ratty hair and thanking anyone but Bhaal that being _Chosen_ by Death apparently made one immune to death spells. His halfling oofed and then laughed and tossed an arm around his shoulder and the back of his neck.

...

* * *

"It's a pity we don't really have a way to haul this giant-ass sword," Tallix commented about the runeblade. It was taller than Gorion, and certainly too heavy and unwieldy to be carrying around. "I'm sure it'd fetch a nice price."

Gorion furrowed his brow down at the halfling. "Can't you just put it-" he lifted up up some of her cloak and peered underneath as if expecting to find an entire mystical kingdom hidden beneath "-wherever it is all of your various armaments and implements end up going?

"Hey, treat this cloak with dignity," she laughed, batting away his hands, "I ain't no packhorse!" He raised a brow, and then proceeded to vigorously muss her hair and cloak. She cackled, shielding her head with her elbow and waving him off. "Nah, nah. Would need ta be properly assassiny dimensions," she confessed. "Can't hide anything _bigger_ than me, at least; and that sword's twice me height."

He nodded as he stooped to investigate the lich's possessions. They had clearly destroyed her real and corporeal form, he noted, which was unfortunate as they had no idea where her phylactery was. On the other hand, she had clearly been a very powerful magus, and their quick action might have saved their lives.

"Anythin magic?" Tallix asked, crouching beside him.

"Most everything," he agreed, poking at the objects with his non-bone belt knife. "The question is whether anything is profaned to the extent that I ought not to be touching it." He hissed abruptly, and flicked a ring aside with the tip of his knife. "_That_. That is something owed to Orcus."

"Suppose that means we ought to get it outa the tomb, eh?" Tallix rummaged about on herself and drew out a weighty little lead box. "Will this help?"

He nodded and moved to take it from her, but she shooed his hands and gathered the ring up with the tip of one of her throwing knives to stow it away.

"There. How we gonna dispose of it?" She clasped the box shut and tucked away. "Send it ta Elminster ta handle? We can write a note with it, summat like," she lifted her hands and spread them out to indicate a banner: "Nyah-nyah nyah-nyah-nyahhh." He raised a brow. "What d'ya think?"

Gorion's mouth quirked. "I was thinking of mailing him a long and angry rant. But your approach immediately sounds much better." He stooped to carefully gather up the rest of the lich's items for later identification. "Bottle up some of her ashes, will you?"

"Sure! Ye want anything from the half-Vrock?"

"Eh..." Gorion winced slightly and glanced back at the half demon. "Would you...?"

She chuckled. "Aye, aye. Every squeamish wizard needs a party butcher fer spell components, eh? Ha! Your face! Hahaha! Yer face!"

...

* * *

"You live?" the wraith rushed down to peer at them as they reentered the hall of trapped spirits. "Is the lich destroyed?"

"Regrettably, it did not seem feasible to merely subdue her," Gorion agreed with a sigh. "I don't suppose you have any idea where her phylactery is?"

"None," the undead creature admitted, flitting excitedly about the arc of the protected walkway. "Wizard- _Estelmo!-_ After a day, I'd presumed you dead!"

"Well we ain't," Tallix groused.

"And you came back here," the wraith added, red eyes watching Gorion.

"Eh? And who's ta say we ain't here ta light the whole place up?" Tallix snarked. "More'n one way to send a ghost packin'."

The wraith recoiled and seemed to turn in on himself for a moment, becoming little more than floating rags. His vaguely humanoid shape resurfaced after a moment's deliberation, along with his claws and coal-like eyes. "I would understand that reaction. It would carry the harsh sting of reality." His voice was low.

"You would prefer death to abandonment?" Gorion asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

The wraith hissed angrily and whirled about for a moment. Then he deflated slightly. "Yes. Although this is a different sect, and although these were... _respectful_ to my tattered carcass; still I _died_ in battle to Bhaalite clerics. And, if the state of my corpse was anything to go by when I found it again, I was _eaten_ by Bhaalite clerics. Do I need to describe how being buried here makes me feel?"

"I can imagine," Gorion admitted with a sympathetic sneer. "You mentioned you are destined for the abyss. Did you think to garner pity from us?"

"Are you the sort to deal in pity?" the wraith asked, his voice growing low and introspective. "Aye, I drew on powers I ought not to have, and left fixing things for later. Later... didn't come. I failed."

"Boo hoo," Tallix commented. "What da ye expect us ta do about it?"

"Take me out with you," he growled eagerly, pouncing at the tunnel again. "Oh I know, I know how maddened that must sound. But nothing _changes_! There are no opportunities and there is no room to fix anything. At least to _leave_ is to have the faintest _illusion_ of hope...! Please, do not leave me to go slowly mad in this tomb...!"

"Ye must presume us bleeding hearted idiots," the halfling scowled, but Gorion placed a hand on her shoulder.

"How could we move you?" Gorion asked. "We would not wish to free the whole lot."

"There is a method!" the wraith gushed. " To capture us, the priests would find whatever remains tied our spirit to this world, cremate them, and perform a ritual to bind them to an urn. The urns could then be used to safely contain and transport us"

The wraith twisted about and gestured up to the pillars and walls supporting the room, which were lined to the ceiling with decorated vessels.

"Take mine and you will be able to do with me what you please. Only _get me out of here_, I beg of you!"

Gorion eyed the pillar, and then looked down at Tallix. "If I cast a protection from Incorporeal Undead on you..." he offered slowly.

"Aye, aye, I can get the urn down," the halfling grumbled. "Though most sane folk, goodly and otherwise, don't take spider fingers and glowin red eyes as a good this-is-all-gonna-end-in-puppies-and-rainbows indicator. Just sayin, lad."

"_You_ are judging on appearances?" he asked his four-foot-tall assassin.

"It's a bloody wraith!" she complained incredulously.

"Well look now Tallix, he's a very _nice_ wraith," the aasimar drawled teasingly.

"Pfah!" She spat to say what she thought of that. "Really? Ye want a pet that bad? Alright, alright, fine." She threw her hands up. "Spell me up and have yer new puppy show me what jar ta nab. Gods, I need a _smoke_."

...

* * *

"I still say ye oughta just chuck it into a ravine," Tallix grumbled as the two (or three?) of them made their way back to the door leading upward.

"Tallix, hush," Gorion admonished gently. "He can hear you."

She wrinkled her nose back at the magus' backpack, where he'd tucked away an urn no longer than her forearm. "Maybe chuck it into a font of holy water then."

"I _can_ hear you," the wraith's low voice was somewhat muffled from within.

"Well then cast a silence spell on it, then," she complained to her wizard.

The wraith sighed. Gorion chuckled, and reached over to rest a hand about her shoulders. "You just want dinner, Miss Snapdragon," he informed her with a wink.

Tallix scowled at first, but then thought visibly on the issue. "Damn _straight_ I want dinner," she concluded grumpily. "Let's eat as soon as we-" She slowed her steps and then tugged on Gorion's sleeve and pointed ahead.

The path heading upwards had been shut.

...

* * *

"Can ye open it?" Tallix asked as Gorion ran his fingertips along the gate doors.

"It's highly resistant to magic and reinforced with a sheet of lead. I would have tremendous difficulty even attempting to teleport past it."

"This is somewhat ironic," the wraith lamented. "I wonder if you'll join me in pointlessly roving this place, or actually manage to move on to your afterlives."

"Baalor's Balls, stop whining before I skin off yer ectoplasm," Tallix hissed. "Worst possible thing that can happen is we get stuck here another _day_ cause the wizard's gotta memorize the right spells fer this."

They heard a heavy thud from behind the gate. Gorion straightened in surprise. Tallix grabbed his arm at the elbow and hauled the tall man quickly behind her. They heard another heavy thud. Gorion threw up a quick abjuration. Then the left door eased slowly open, and a lantern light temporarily blind both of them.

Nothing immediately mauled them.

When they could see, wincing at spots after too many hours below the earth, they could see that a living man was peering at them from between a narrow gap in the doors. His lantern was hooded and cast little light back on himself.

"Did you destroy the lich?" he asked them.

"We did," Gorion answered after a moment's delay. "To whom do we speak?"

The man was quiet a long moment longer. Then he pushed the door fully open and backed up from it to usher them past.

Gorion glanced at Tallix. Then the two stepped warily after him. No sooner had they cross the threshold than he settled his lantern down and hurried back to bar the gate closed again.

"Who are you?" Gorion repeated, and then cut off with a strangled noise when he caught sight of what the man was wearing. They were priest's robes, and they carried the hooded skull and scythe of Myrkul on the shoulders, sleeves, and waist sash. He had a bare, wickedly curved sickle dangling at his hip.

The man, who could not have been much older than two dozen years in age, spoke a few phrases in Infernal, Draconic, and Celestial to seal the gate's protections, and then turned about to retrieve his lantern.

"Will you be leaving now?" he asked them.

"You are a Myrkulyte," the aasimar growled, ready to act.

"And you are a grave robber," the young man informed him stiffly. "For which I could easily have left you locked down there."

Gorion withdrew a step, balking at this appellation. Grave robber! Well... er... _Technically_...?

"What the devil ye doin down here lad?" Tallix asked of the black-robed priest. Gorion looked at her, kept off-balance by the fact that evil priests could be 'lads.'

"I live here," the priest told her.

"Wae, fer ten years?" Tallix wondered, as that would have been from the Time of Troubles.

"Eleven. Some people like the quiet," he remarked.

Halfling and aasimar shared a bewildered glance. What sort of thirteen year old boy 'liked the quiet' enough to retire to a graveyard?

"I came to tend to the tomb," the priest explained. "That you handled the mess on the restricted floor is sufficient to forgive your destruction of the entryway golem. Still, I hope you will be leaving soon."

"Mind if we ask ye a question?" Tallix posed. "Were the tombs disturbed when ye turned up here?"

"No," he answered. "That was the shapechanger. It came in the form of a blond elvish woman, just prior to the Godswar, and proceeded to tear through the catacombs, uncaring of what it disturbed."

Gorion sank back on his heels. "Bhaal," he spat.

"Bhaal? Mm. Acting cocky and irreverent, like any mortal who knows they are about to die," the man observed, as if all of this did not seem strange or alarming to him. "I prefer the dignity of Bones." He turned his lantern towards the staircase and started to climb. "Is there a specific reason you came here, then?"

The wizard looked up from his thoughts, and bristled as he watched the priest ascend. Then he followed slowly in the man's wake, and his fingers slipped back to rest over his belt knife. "Most likely none that would interest you." _This priest is not idly here, and neither harmless._

"No, likely not," The Myrkulyte agreed. "Given that you can see so easily through my thin and artificial attempts at human interaction, I suppose I might as well dispense with them. Perhaps it will seem less strange to you when I go back upstairs and return to my large pile of books, valiantly ignoring your presence here."

Gorion glanced to the side as Tallix's hand came to rest on his forearm. She gave him a look which said she was the only one of them qualified to be knifing people in the back. The aasimar frowned and glanced warily back up at their 'guide.' "Books," he echoed after a moment.

The priest paused. "You cannot loot them," he blurted defensively.

Gorion leaned momentarily against the wall and observed the man shrewdly. "What do you consider yourself a specialist on?" he asked.

"What kind of question is that?" the priest asked quickly, nervously.

"Prophecies? Art? Magic? Necromancy? Underdark plant life? Various types of edible mushrooms local to the Upperdark caverns between the Western Heartlands and Amn?" Gorion prodded slowly.

"There are forty-seven in the region," the priest leaked, and then looked incredibly embarrassed before muttering, "And one doesn't usually categorize caverns based on surface country boundaries if one really is familiar with the topic."

Gorion crossed his arms over his chest and contemplated the priest. Then he glanced at Tallix, who had both brows lifted. "Alright," The Harper sighed. "You win. I won't kill him."

"What?" the Myrkulyte asked, now terribly confused and unsteady.

Gorion sighed, didn't answer, and resumed climbing the stairs. The priest swallowed and then hurried after him.

...

* * *

"There's a better way to the surface," the priest mumbled helpfully at his shoes when they had reached the temple again and were standing between twin statues of the Slayer.

"The staircase?" Tallix asked. "Looks like it's been closed off a century and more."

"No. Another."

Tallix looked quizzically up at her wizard, who was unexpectedly gentle in his prompting: "Show us."

The priest nodded and turned stiffly to head through the temple. Tallix followed second, and Gorion came behind them. He led them through several rooms before coming to a room which sloped gently upward.

"This was a portal to the surface," the priest explained awkwardly, as he reached up to pull a sheet away from what anyone might have thought to be a mirror. Instead, it proved to be a rune-lined gateway, old and sculpted from eternally burnished bronze.

It was shiny, clearly magical, and thus immediately attracted Gorion like the wizardly magpie that he was. Tallix planted her hands on her hips with a dismayed huff and a shake of her head. Then she quirked a brow up at the priest.

"A mage might be able to make use of it," the Myrkulyte explained through his discomfort. "Though I surmise you will want to evaluate if it's purpose is as I have described it."

"Where's it lead, then?" Tallix asked dryly as Gorion summoned up a mage light by which to better see the object he was studying.

"A cavern behind a waterfall. Southeast of the town of 'Beregost,' I think."

"This portal doesn't need a mage," was Gorion's conclusion as he ran his fingers over the fine draconic and engravings. "Nor a ward stone. It looks as if it was meant to activate at the utterance of trigger phrases."

The priest rocked his weight from foot to foot. "Oh."

Gorion glanced up at him. "Which I'm suspecting you were aware of."

The man blushed slightly in the light of his lantern. "I don't know the words."

"And you want me to figure them out."

"Ah. Yes..."

"Are you willing to go through first to test whether it's destination is valid?" Gorion asked.

"Yes."

Gorion looked at Tallix, who heaved a great sigh. "Fine, but yer cookin me supper first."

The priest perked up. "I can-"

"No," Tallix growled, and she pulled out her pipe to start stuffing it with tobacco. "Ye can keep quiet while the paranoid quarter-angel works out how ta fix yer portal, ye silly nit; and be glad we've got kids about yer age and can tell the difference between a religious fanatic and a social recluse."

...

* * *

Tallix set about to starting a fire in one of the complex's nearest stoves. There was nothing fresh remaining of the duo's rations, but they had sufficient water and dried foodstuffs for Gorion to assemble a presentable meal.

The Myrkulyte trailed after them awkwardly for a few minutes, but said nothing. When he decided to shuffle off elsewhere, the only notice either of them had was when the glare of his lantern went abruptly missing. Tallix glanced after his quiet footfalls, and then shared an amused look with Gorion.

"Evil is as evil does?" the halfling quipped.

"Then you and I are _both_ more damned than he is," Gorion noted wryly. "Dignity of Bones indeed. He's spent nearly half his life without seeing another living person."

"Tis a wonder he recalls how to _speak,_" she grinned as she stood. "I'll tail him just to be sure."

Gorion nodded as she hurried off into the shadows.

A moment passed in silence. Gorion cleared his throat, and glanced slyly over at his backpack. "You've been terribly quiet."

The wraith's voice was small: "Says the grave robber with the loudmouth partner in crime to their stolen urn."

"Touche," the wizard grinned. "We'll speak later, then."

...

* * *

Tallix returned just a few moments before the priest did, already lighting up her pipe to finally have that smoke she'd wanted. She neither said nor indicated anything was amiss, but cast a doubtful look back at the Myrkulyte when he reentered the room.

Gorion glanced up as the young man hesitantly approached him. He was holding a basket somewhat defensively close but, after being subjected to curious staring for well over a minute, he tilted the basket to reveal a number of assorted fungi.

"I-if you wanted something fresh..."

Gorion looked at the basket in dismay, amusement, and curiousity. To say he felt conflicted by all of this was an understatement; priests of Myrkul were not supposed to be _endearing_. Once more, this temple had left Gorion incredibly uncomfortable. At long last, he pointed to a fibrous looking violet mushroom. "Is that a _plump helmet_?" he asked.

"Yes! Ah- Yes." He extracted the dwarvish favorite and offered it hesitantly out. Gorion took it with a murmured thanks, showed it to Tallix who responded with a shrug, and then set to cutting it up for their stew. The priest went back to hugging his basket. After a moment he looked at Tallix and her pipe, and his nose wrinkled slightly.

The old halfling chuckled. "Sorry bout the smoke, lad; Old Auntie gets twitchy fer lack of leaf. Ye have a name?"

"E-espinosa. Tinesifé Espinosa of... Amn, I suppose."

"Tallix Snapdragon. This here's Blue," she said, elbowing Gorion gently. The Harper glanced at her in surprise but then concluded that concealing his real name was something that he ought to get into the habit of, lest it eventually percolate back to his family and end up destroying him.

"Salutations, then," the priest apparently concluded was the appropriate response.

...

* * *

"Have you been here alone for a decade then?" Gorion asked at last when Tallix was on her second bowl of soup and he'd poured some for himself.

"I have my garden," the priest supplied.

Gorion poured a third bowl for Tinesifé as he sipped out of his own, and then stood up with both in hand and the intention to go have a look at that gate. "Here," he said, offering the priest the bowl as he passed.

The Myrkulyte straightened and leaned back an inch, looking from him to the bowl as if not certain what to make of either. Gorion paused and raised a brow, trying to look more dignified and attemptive than a man usually did while scarfing down mushroom and pork jerky chowder. After a long, awkward pause, the priest slowly lifted up his hands to take the bowl in hand.

"Thank you," was his expressionless response. He lifted up the rim to his mouth, and took a very small sip.

Gorion cleared his throat. "You'll have to forgive me my lack of clean spoons. My hag ended up braining a lich with hers this afternoon, and appears to have commandeered my own in the meanwhile."

"Ha!" Tallix gargled through mouthfuls of soup.

The aasimar glanced back at her and then moved on to attend to the gate.

Tinesifé followed him after a moment. "You could identify the plump helmet," he commented as Gorion investigated the runes.

"Dwarves grow them a'times," Gorion replied as he eased open his spellbook and fetched a quill and ink. "Brews a mean ale if one can get the farm low enough. If I recall my facts straight, that is."

"Oh." This explained matters.

"Mind you, I've been in the Underdark before." Gorion settled cross-legged before the gate and started copying sigils. "But between the bluecap and the miner's delight, I wagered the helmet would do better in a chowder."

For a moment, Tinesifé was very quiet, which Gorion scarcely noticed because he'd put his mind to the task of figuring out the gate.

But then everything came out in a deluge:

"Well I cannot say I know anything about chowders, but there are really three separate species of miner's delight and I think you'll find that the broad capped _menah marofke _variant is actually quite complementary to savory flavors. Then you have to realize that bluecaps come in so many variants they might as well be rice, running from the ultramarine-trimmed 'towering bluecap,' to the _uuthli pala_, which roughly translated means 'the azure grain' which is by and large known for its fluffy texture and innocuous flavor when used to bake spore bread. The variety _I_ presented for your selection, however was the lesser-known _zaphodiop ms'javtjikt t'puuli draix, _which has a buttery texture and would have made for a superior thickening agent to whatever powdered grain it is you employed here. Also you completely overlooked the cinderpearl lichen,_ chath __sokin_, which when dried makes for a very delicate spice."

Gorion twisted about to peer somewhat blankly up at the priest, still blinking rapidly through a mind clouded with draconic sigils and arcane geometry.

Tinesifé stared back at him for a moment. Then he turned about and quickly strode towards the exit of the room. "My plants need watering."

Gorion straightened in concern, staring after him.

Moments later, the priest reappeared, hurried awkwardly back to where he'd been standing, and settled down the largely uneaten bowl of soup. "It was very good thank you." He stood up just as woodenly, and re-departed in his original direction.

The aasimar looked down at his spellbook, over at the soup bowl, and then after the departed Myrkulyte. Then he got swiftly to his feet and went to retrieve the abandoned meal and pursue its startled recipient.

The light from the Myrkulyte's lantern had almost vanished down the hallway, but Gorion's infravision spell allowed him to pick up on the trail of heat it left behind. He hesitated a moment, sneering to himself. _As if you don't have enough things churning through your head these days. You want to add worrying about the mental well being of yet another person of questionable moral and/or religious judgement__? _But he found himself walking briskly after the fading heat. Perhaps worrying about stray monsters was simply his penance for accidental crusader-hood.

Amid internal self-reproaches, and a gloomy commentary on the subject of his own psychological health, a sardonic voice concluded this was simply proof that Aegis was his child.

_Like father, like daughter._

...

* * *

Aegis stuck at Yeslick's shoulder until it became clear that Branwen was going to like the dwarf even more than she did. For a woman who was most assuredly a war cleric, it seemed Branwen did have a warm, boisterous, big-hearted interior. Perhaps it was the sight of another mistreated slave which activated her maternal instinct, or perhaps she was simply attracted to people who had gone too long in dire need of a good sandwich. Whatever the case, she'd soon taken the seat at Yeslick's left and was encouraging him to resume eating again so that he might get his strength back.

Xan looked to be positively bursting with questions, but he got no further than asking about the number of guards at the mine before Branwen swiveled about and threw him a very long and pointed stare. The enchanter went silent immediately, pouted, and then threw up his arms and set to pacing about and wringing his hands with nervous excitement.

Aegis watched Branwen coddle the older dwarf for a bit longer and then slipped over and gave the cleric's shoulder a warm squeeze. Branwen gave her arm a pat to let her know everything was taken care of, and Aegis moved on to check on the rest of her group.

"We are going to need another suit of plate," Viconia suspected as Aegis approached.

"What?" Ajantis perked up. "This poor man has just been through a highly traumatic experience. What would make you sure he's proficient in arms, much less that he'd want to go _back_ there?"

"Poor baby," Shar-Teel chuckled blackly. "Scared to have a repeat-Ulcaster." Aegis shot her a dirty look as Ajantis cringed. Shar-Teel leaned back and grinned with her hands spread out in an 'unarmed' gesture.

"Well, paladin. As to your first question: he's a dwarf," Edwin explained dryly. "And to the second question: he is a dwarf. Did you miss the part where his ancestral homeland was invaded by goblinoid bandits, or is it actually indeed the 'dwarf' bit which persists in confusing you?"

Imoen looked up at them all in surprise. "Can _all_ dwarves fight? No. That's crazy? _All_ of them?" Edwin gave a lazy, thin-lipped smile as if he found her endearing but did not want to tell her so.

Viconia shrugged. "I can testify that their offspring made for excellent pit fighters when matched against goblin fodder." Ajantis cringed more, and had to bury his face in his hands to shut out the mental images. Aegis dropped her face into her palm and shook her head wordlessly. Viconia initially smirked at the reaction she'd provoked; then her eyes widened and she shrunk against the side of her chair in alarm, as she'd accidentally lured over a scowling wild elf.

"Someone who is not me needs to have a conversation with you regarding your poor taste in conversational topics," Kivan informed her with a startling quantity of words. Ajantis looked up in tense surprise. Aegis blinked slowly past her fingers. Viconia stayed where she'd been accosted. Kivan stared at the drow a moment longer, and then swept away and turned his attention onto Aegis.

"Will we be leaving soon?"

Aegis nodded. "We need to make two or three sub-parties, and it's probably best if we leave town unobserved. We'll meet up this evening and use my suite to talk out the details, and give the Yeslick through tomorrow to recover. I'll wager now he'll be coming with us. So will Coran and Eldoth." Never had two names so closed together elicited such widely different facial expression as 'Coran' and 'Eldoth,' Aegis concluded moments later.

"What of Dynaheir?" Edwin prodded as neutrally as he appeared to know how.

"We still don't know. She's not talking to us yet," Aegis confessed. "But stay away from Minsc. He's more frustrated than he's letting on, and the only one who could diffuse that kind of fight bloodlessly is Xan."

The Red Wizard was taken aback, and his brows furrowed. "Are you honestly going to hold me accountable for the hamster-loving fool's wellbeing even if _he_ attacks_ me_ and that elf does not intervene?"

Their leader crossed her arms over her chest and raised a brow. "How about you just try really, _really_ hard not to end up as the next batch of entrails I get soaked in?" Aegis suggested, and Xzar snickered approvingly.

"What, by doing nothing to defend myself and dying to the Rashemi first? (That is delightful: I get to _pick_ which oversized ranger gets splattered in pieces of me)." Imoen ribbed her Red Wizard. He eyeballed her in annoyance, but then straightened himself out with a sigh. "I shall make due with defensive spells," he dismissed the issue with the confidence of a problem-solving wizard who had just come into four spellbooks on abjuration.

"I appreciate your restraint, Edwin" Aegis positively reinforced, if somewhat dryly; because while Edwin might have all the social reasoning skills of an ogre who'd been dropped on his head as a child, there was little doubt in her mind that he'd still come a long way from where he'd started. Anyway, he clearly made Imoen happy.

...

* * *

"Alright," Laeral said once her silver hair had been put back to rights, and once Khelben and Elminster were both nursing chicory at opposite sides of the room. "What precisely happened?"

"She might as well have been Gorion's child!" Khelben snapped at Elminster instead of explaining anything.

Laeral wondered if she might have to do something drastic to get her lover to pay attention to her; would eschewing her top help? No, no, this was not the time for such silly antics, for this argument looked as if it might actually be serious. She rolled her eyes, sighed exasperatedly, and positioned herself directly in the man's line of sight. Khelben winced as surely as if she'd rebuked him and then whined grumpily:

"He slept with my dear friend's daughter!"

Laeral's eye twitched. Elminster stared in disbelief for a brief moment, lips pressed tightly together. Then he gestured emphatically to Laeral with both hands, as she was his very own adopted child and Khelben was most obviously sleeping with _her_. "Hypocrite!" he shouted.

Khelben stood up from his window. "Laeral is the _Lady Mage of Waterdeep_ and six centuries of age!" he thundered. The 'Lady Mage' in question slowly sank her face into her hands, and shook her head helplessly back and forward. (Children, both of them!) "_You_ were in a Festhall when I apprehended you, and for all anyone can tell you are still romantically involved with the _Witch Queen of Aglarond_!"

"Sweet Goddess of Magic, Khelben, that is an _explicitly _open relationship!" the red-garbed wizard snapped in frustration. "Which, I might add, no one other than you seems to be unaware of! Not everyone in Faerun is controlling and jealous like yourself! Alassra would certainly not accept if I started placing restrictions on _her_ sexual proclivities!"

"You think _one person_ allowing you to get away with such behaviors provides you with a license to do so everywhere and in front of anyone? Shall we gauge the moral validity of your actions against what other random women think is 'normal' sexual behavior? A succubae perhaps, or a vampire?"

"Excuse me, but when did we marry one another that you should find yourself entitled to imposing sanctions on my _sex life_?" the older mage posed testily. "Alassara-"

Khelben made a prohibitory gesture. "The fact that you managed to find a woman who shares your dearth of intimate loyalty does not somehow legitimize your frolicking about the countryside charming whatever shiny new and starstruck female manages to attract your effervescent attention!"

"Charming!?" Elminster exploded, stepping forward. "I have never in my _life_ ensorceled anyone into my bedchamber, nor committed to acts of intimacy under false pretenses! Do you think I somehow require the company of a female body to sleep at nights?! How young do you think I am!? If I spend an evening with _anyone_ it is because I wish to express that I admire them! Affection- _love!_\- does not need to be bottled up in some strangled champagne bottle just to explode on someone once every hundred years, you sanctimonious old bird; nor is it something that ought to be withheld from those who earnestly deserve it!"

Khelben had an incredibly concise reply: "You. Are. A. W_hore!_"

"I am not the one who has sired dozens of children off of countless different women!" Elminster threw back at him with a sharp gesture of a chicory cup that was enchanted precisely to prevent itself from losing its contents while being flailed about by absentminded mages. "Every half century I turn around and it seems you're wedding another pretty trophy you've dug out of a gutter!

"You would _dare!?" _Khelben spat. "You would _dare_ equate my _loneliness_ after I've outlived a woman I've given _everything_ to- THIS you would equate with your own licentiousness!?"

Elminster was no less angry. "You think I do not love with just as much ardency or validity, all because I do not torment myself with these arbitrarily imposed rules that you so love to follow!?"

Laeral wondered how she might bring to Law's and Chaos's respective attentions that dragons, angels, and fae had long ago ironed out the details behind which immortal folk ought to think about their sexualities, and had of course discovered that a great many alternative views on the subject matter were equally viable. Then she wondered if either man really wanted to hear that answer, or if they both just wanted to shout each other down in some sort of bizarre dominance spat. One supposed similar behavior often occured when too many of her own sisters were gathered in the same room together.

"That is _precisely_ what I think!" Khelben growled. "The only reason you slept with that girl is because she is an eidetic with breasts!" Elminster's eyes widened incredulously. "Yes! Yes of course I know what she is! And the only reason you have managed to consistently convince yourself that you are 'in love with' the Simbul is because she is indisputably the best female Archmagus across the hundreds of worlds you have visited in your planar jaunts, and you- you are only _ever_ attracted to _magic and power_!"

Elminster lunged at him and Khelben dove straight to meet him. Surely a grapple would have ensued (with Elminster coming out victorious, as Khelben was one of the least martially competent of all the Chosens) had Laeral not grabbed her foster father by the scruff of his robes and dragged him back. She held out a palm to prevent her lover from coming any closer. The two most important men in her life seethed ridiculously at one another.

"The two of you should be _ashamed_," she growled at them. "Taking such shots at what little either of you love that _isn't_ power...! Trying to invalidate such important bastions in eachother's lives...! You should be _ashamed_ of yourselves! When all is said and done, you are the closest friends _either_ of you will ever have, and neither of you have any business jamming daggers into one another's hearts!" Both winced. "You are simply different than one another! Neither of you are wrong, except that you would so viciously assault each other on the matter!"

Her menfolk had the decency to look somewhat cowed, but the glares they threw one another suggested that this was only the latest manifestation of some long-running (and likely absurdly irrelevant) disagreement.

Laeral frowned from one of them to the other, and then pushed them a little farther away from each other. There were times she wished she had her sister Dove's full martial background, that she could haul her family members off one another amid such silly brawls. Fortunately, it seemed these two fools weren't about to ignore her. "You two are not angry over any of the things you are arguing about," she accused. "What is this? Out with it! Or have you both buried the truth under so many layers of 'intellect' that you've forgotten what the whole of the matter is? In that case, why don't we call on Esmerae to uproot-"

"_Not her_!" Both of them snarled simultaneously. Laeral blinked. They gave one another a begrudging glance of agreement, and then Khelben crossed his arms across his chest, and Elminster drew back a foot and pulled out his pipe.

"She's been forbidden from entering this tower for over two decades," Khelben growled, a fact which he had never before mentioned to Laeral herself.

"She was unforgivably intrusive," Elminster grumbled as he lit his pipe. "Stomping forcibly about through the mind of an infant child without the father's permission, all while trying to convince him to let us murder it."

Laeral grimaced in dismay. "Esmerae did that? Invaded on a-?" Poetic words failed her. "_Ew_."

"Precisely," Khelben growled. "Which, I suppose..." he trailed off.

"...is most likely the root of this argument," Elminster admitted for them both.

"But why was anyone at all considering the murder of a baby?" Laeral demanded, for such things ought to have been unfathomable.

Khelben sighed, and summoned his chicory back to him so that he could use it to pace his thoughts. "It has to do with the prophecies of Alaundo and the Children of Bhaal," he told her at last and, as he'd predicted, Laeral stiffened and turned a few shades grayer. He winced apologetically and reached out to touch her arm and back reassuringly. The last thing he'd wanted to do was conjure up memories of her history with Myrkul and the Crown of Horns, but there was little other way to answer her honestly without mentioning Bhaal.

"You realize that Mystra has forbidden us from interfering with certain matters of late," Elminster supplemented, "and that this is so we do not provoke an audit by Cyric while his power inflates artificially through the slaughter of so many of his failed converts. But what you do not know is that we were _were_ interfering until recently, and..."

"...and that we have _very_ different feelings towards how things turned out on that front," Khelben completed for him. Elminster nodded in thoughtful agreement.

Fortunately, Laeral's master plan to distract Law and Chaos from all their glaring differences in a torrent of wizardly brainstorming and problem-solving actvities was already bearing fruit; the two were finishing one another's sentences and might soon be making proactive plans for the future and bickering harmlessly like the very-nearly-married-couple that they truly were.

Unfortunately, she was now very curious about something that would most probably set them to arguing again. Alas, but relationship counseling would have to be postponed for the moment; what the devil had these silly boys been up to?

...

* * *

[Author's Notes]

1\. _Khelben's_ _Warding Whip_, as included in Baldur's Gate 2, is implemented incorrectly. In the lore, _Warding Whip_ is a counter Khelben casually wrote for all Bigby's force spells. He then gave the spell away to Volo, knowing Volo would publish it across the entire magic community. It flies around snapping angrily at Bigby force spells and destroying or driving them around. Khelben is quoted saying Bigby invented one thing and then proceeded to beat the concept to death with a rock. ;) My alternative: _Khelben's Slow Repeal, _therefore replaces the functionality of the in-game _Warding Whip:_ it dispels protections slowly over a course of a chunk of time.

2\. Elminster's formally designated as Chaotic Good and Khelben is as Lawful Neutral. Does that seem as arbitrary to you as it does to me? Why not Elminster as Chaotic Neutral and Khelben as Lawful Good? Most probably because Elminster is the protagonist (Pft!), and Lawful Good is the 'paladin alignment.' Khelben can be brutally efficient to the point of being ruthless. Heavens forbid he thinks you're the bad guy, because there will be no mercy! But if it were up to me, I'd say they're both equally borderline Good/Netural. So there you have it: two immortal, hyper-competent best friends with their polarized Chaotic and Lawful tendencies, arguing over what appropriate sexual behavior ought to be when you're almost two thousand years old and everyone else you know is at least eight centuries younger that you. That's a day in the life of these idiots XD.

3\. Honest to god I think Tallix and Gorion could form the most phenomenal and abnormal adventuring party ever XD. I have so many ideas if I ever rewrote them into a original universe XD. They will have the oddest network of friends ever.

4\. I can't write in the over-the-top poetic language the Chosens are normally written in. In fact I can't even write Elminster using thees and thous and ye's and so forth XD. I just can't. To me it's just so pretentious when he does it in the books XD; or maybe I just know I don't really have the talent for romantic dialog and it would fall flat on it's face. Besides, I'd think Elminster would be fashionable and keep up on the current lingo XD XD XD. So I suppose all I can say is that I hope you guys like my more mundane and less romanticized versions of the Chosens, even if it doesn't fit any mental image you might have previously established for them XD.


	36. Troubleshooting Author in Three, Two,

Xzar: "Come Quick! Come Quick!" -He is covered in dirt, standing knee deep in grave, with a shovel in hand, beaming from ear to ear- "I found her! T'was death by graduate thesis, you see!? Get me the cables!*"

*Cables are not for everyone. Consult your doctor to see if cables are right for you. Symptoms may include nausea, dry mouth, vomiting, irritability, insomnia, severe agitation, amnesia, hunger for brains, more cats, and dissociation from normal social groups and behaviors.

...

* * *

_**Rebooting the Author**_

...

* * *

...

The stables-smell of horse kept Imoen dreaming of Dreppin and Nessie, at least before a small jolt from the saddle shot her to wakefulness in an anxious and startled flurry. Kidnapped!? No: She was sitting upright upon the horse, and her wrists were not bound, and her armor was all in place; and while, true, she was riding horseback behind a Red Wizard, 'twas not in any sinister fashion.

Edwin glanced back towards her, a motion which suggested she'd made some noise of panic or startlement. Jackal and Coffee were fast asleep upon his shoulder.

{You nodded off like a bored toddler,} he explained tersely. {The culprit, no doubt, being all of that aimless running about, post-consumption of far too many sweets.}

Imoen blinked dumbly at him a moment as she gathered her bearings, and then sagged back into the comfy space between his shoulder blades. It was late evening on their way east towards Gullykin, and overcast clouds had left the world incredibly dark. What little could be seen was in two colors: pitch black, and the dark gray of un-illuminated snow. Edwin shifted a bit in their saddle. Then he reached down and placed a gloved hand over where her arms were wrapped about his middle, giving silent indication that he knew precisely what she'd thought about on first waking, and knew also whose fault _that _was.

Imoen squeezed him to accept his apology, and then yawned and tried to peer ahead at the darkened shapes of the horses ahead of them. Xzar looked to be riding side-saddle across Aegis' lap and was perhaps engaged in studying his spellbook despite everything being black as pitch. {We haven't stopped yet? For the night?}

{The Wild Elf seems to feel these are actually _ideal_ conditions under which to elude any unsolicited pursuit,} Edwin replied with a little sniff. {Bandits, ex-bandits, assassins or otherwise. As I have a darkvision spell active, I am not inclined to disagree with him.}

Kivan had originally intended to travel with Xan and Branwen, but then Coran had gone and mentioned rumors of an _Ogre Magi _in Firewine. Afterwards- as Edwin phrased it- no amount of group composition analysis could have swayed the ranger from continuing his 'predictable ogre-themed vendetta against the brigands of the world.' The sub-groups had needed to be rapidly reconfigured to accomodate.

Which was fine by Imoen, because Xan tended to commiserate with Kivan rather than focus on the future, and that was usually fine, except that Kivan had just killed Tazok and resolved his entire purpose for survival and now_ clearly_ was having some kind of crisis-of-identity deep down as he tried to figure out whether or not he even still wanted to be _alive_. Imoen was uniquely qualified as a Bringer of Good Cheer, and Aegis was a totally dependable-emotional-support sort of person, and _surely_ with their powers combined, surely, _surely_, Kivan at least stood a _chance_. Fingers crossed! He smiled a bit now and then, anyways, right?

Coffee was preening Jackal now, and the sight of it was absolutely _adorables_. Who would have supposed an itty-bitty celestial and an itty-bitty devil could have gotten along so well? Though Edwin had once mentioned Jackal was not _born _a devil. Maybe that would be an interesting educational topic to ask him about on some other day?

{I am surprised you are still seated,} Edwin remarked conversationally, which for him meant that an insult or critique was likely forthcoming. {Peasants know little of horses, and novice riders are not typically so immune from tumbling from saddles.}

{The Red Wizard appears to be affecting ignorance of his thief's openly-mentioned-but-never-actually-thoroughly-discussed non-peasant heritage,} she narrated aloud. {Though a mental picture of juvenile, bald you repeatedly falling off of a horse whilst wondering why it refused to properly respect your obvious superiority _does_ make me giggle.}

He cleared his throat. {You call _me_ ignorant? Hnh. I cannot remember an age at which I did not know how to ride.}

Oh? Imoen blinked to attention, because Edwin wasn't the sort of man anyone could mistake for an 'animal person.' {Who taught you?}

{The 'evil overlord' as I believe The Monkey has branded him.}

What, _himself_? No serf or slave tutor as a go-between? Huh. There was a lot about Edwin's father that didn't seem to add up a'times but, then, if one only looked at the manically power-obsessed caricature which Edwin initially presented _himself_ as, it was easy to see how quickly one might flatten any Red Wizard (or Zhent) into a stock villainous characters and lose sight of their human elements.

Nnh. But...

But it was difficult to make any allowances whatsoever for a person _so evil _that they would do to a mother and son what Homen Odesseiron had done. Forgiving Edwin for everything _wrong_ with Edwin was a lot easier if one could blame sixty or seventy percent of it on Thay/Homen and note that the conjurer had at least avoided damning himself since arriving on this side of the world. It gave Imoen more to work with than, say, Aegis, who somehow managed to cope with the fact that Xzar was _completely insane and a very obviously evil necromancer who ate people._

{My da taught me how to ride, too,} Imoen remembered she was having a conversation. {Random thing to have in common.}

Edwin didn't say anything immediately, which was probably a symptom of his tongue behaving itself whilst he enumerated through the six million different ways their equine educations had most certainly possessed nothing in common with one another. She took the excuse to give him another happy squeeze of positive reinforecement.

{Have I mentioned yet how happy I am you're back?}

{Only seventy or eighty times,} a Red Wizard tried to mutter irritably, but instead most-likely preened. {Who or what is a 'Dreppin?'}

Imoen snorted/giggled (snortled?), realizing she must have been mumbling about cows in her sleep. {He's the stable boy at Candlekeep.}

Edwin's voice took on a slight edge. {I see.}

{Eh? Ha! Don't worry. By the frequency at which we found Phlydia's books had gone missing in the hay loft, he was _totally_ spoken-for. Besides, you dress well and smell like nutmeg.}

Hehe: Back to preening as he straightened his silks. {Among countless other differences,_ I should_ _hope._}

{Oh of course, Dreppin's really sweet.}

He shook his head back and forth. {You know, Monkey, sometimes talking to you is like pulling teeth.}

{Mm, yeesss,} Imoen purred into her Fiery Draconic Peacock, a wide and contented smile stretching across her face as she closed her eyes to rest a bit more. {I'm sure it is_._}

...

* * *

For being a twenty-one-year-old Myrkulite cleric, Tinesife Espinosa of Amn was a remarkably innocent-mannered and studious creature whose hobbies apparently included becoming a living encyclopedia on underdark staple foods.

_So now I'm chasing an evil cleric through the dark to reassure him that his_ _social skills are not too piteous to stand present company. Oi. _Gorion rubbed at his brow and then paused in startlement: he had but ducked through another hole in the wall, only to find himself in a library whose shelves towered thirty feet in height and whose halls were filled to the brim with well-manicured plants. _All this... this is his garden? He's kept himself busy down here, that's for certain._

Something crackled and snapped itself up into a vertical position, and Gorion spun about to the relaization he was standing scarcely three meters away from gargantuan, toothy, spine-covered _Violet Fungus._

Violet Fungi usually stood no higher than a man's waist and hadn't the intelligence the gods had given even unto _worms_, and yet _rare_ was the subterranean adventurer who bore neither scar nor horror story from meeting one. They recognized living flesh by sound and smell, and one swat from one of their barb-lined tentacles would set skin and muscle to swift decay. This specimen was twice as tall and broad as any orc, and its tentacle pads were each about four feet in height.

_"Krah nin!" _the wizard spat, for he had exhausted his spell reserves that day and had but small, quick cantrips with which to defend himself. If he could buy himself just a _moment_ of time-! Ice spat out from his palms, slicing through roiling purple tentacles and an undulating dome. The fungi's tentacles slashed out blindly towards him with all the speed of whips and the momentum of tree-trunks. They hit the walls on his left, sending dust and debris through the air, and he barely threw himself to the ground before one reversed its momentum and took off his head. "Tallix! _Malspaan!_" He threw up a small divine shield of Oghma's parchment, just instants before a tentacle tore off the whole front of himself.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?" The booming voice was not Tallix's; Tinesife had returned and was shouting louder than his mouse-like demeanor had suggested was possible. More relevant to the present situation was the fact that Tinesife was directly within the mushroom's striking range. "What is WRONG with you!? Why would you DO this!?"

Gorion scrambled backwards, but no more giant violet tentacle attacks were forthcoming. He had a few seconds to assess that the Violet might have _belonged_ to Tinesife and that therefore it had been likely desensitized to his scent via some alchemical means. But that was before Tinesife turned to the giant organism and began petting its trunk with both hands as if pleading with it.

"Just look at this! Look at her! Her annulus veil is positively trembling with stress, all the way down to the tips of the brachiations, and you've left no less than six visible lacerations! Can you not see the magenta!? The pigment?! The damage! Why!? What!? YOU!" He flailed his arms about, whirling on Gorion with a vindictive and spiteful expression, and shouted: "WORDS!" because apparently the exact ones which he truly needed in that moment had failed him- unsurprising, given his isolation.

Gorion gaped at him for a moment, and at the giant and previously-presumed-to-be-wholly-unintelligent-fungus which had sagged towards the cleric. It had even wrapped one of its tentacles harmlessly about where Tinesife stood, in what really did look like it might be an _embrace_. Well, words had not failed him quite so much as they had the cleric: "Pardon, I believe I may have been ill-advised towards the propensity of fungi for exhibiting intelligence."

Tinesife had puffed up all fierce, disheveled and angry-looking; with a sprig of some herb or another having gotten caught up in his hair along the way. But Gorion's _l_ogical reply looked to deflate him a little. "Well, well now you _know_," he reprimanded Gorion sternly, and then turned about. "Oh my poor, poor little one," he cooed to the giant mushroom, who also seemed quite happy to think of itself as 'little' despite all evidence to the contrary, "did this self-centered, inconsiderate, reprovable tomb-raider hurt you...? Mmmm? Let me see, let me see... Daddy will make it better...!"

Tallix gained Gorion's side, and offered him a boost up to standing. "Whelp," she cleared her throat. "Ye think ye might want ta give mushroom-boy a moment to ah... calm down and collect his thoughts?"

Gorion took a long look at where an unusually pleasant purple mushroom appeared to be the animal companion of a bizarrely nurturing but asocial, garden-obsessed, and bookish cleric of the dead. Then he shook his head, looked down to Tallix Snapdragon, and nodded. "Yes. I suppose that sounds like an almost-sane course of action. Far batter than par, really. Do we happen to have any more tea?"

...

* * *

To say that Yeslick Orothair and Branwen of the Isle had taken a liking to one another was to say that stone had a liking for earth, Khalid thought. They were so very two-of-a-kind that Xan surely would have grown jealous, if only elves were the sort of folk to recall dwarves even bred, much less occasionally suffered from romantic inclinations. As it was, no extraordinarily-anxious-enchanters wasted even a single drop of their precious emotional energy wondering if they'd just encountered 'competition.'

Which actually was probably for the best, Khalid mused. Because Xan had needed a little more security in the day-to-day!

So it was that dwarf and human ambled along side-by-side, sharing stories of war and glorious battle with one another and escalating embellishments to grandiose heights, all while an elf walked tucked under his lover's arm, occasionally lost in divinations and otherwise actually seeming to be enjoying himself, the company, and the weather.

Before sending them out, Aegis had instructed them all to keep an eye open for stray horses and other beasts of burden as they left Beregost. According to Kivan, two large corrals of raided animals had escaped from the flaming bandit camp, and had likely been driven far apart by smoke. Draft horses, ponies, and oxen had had formed the region's agricultural backbone; without them, there was no swift transportation and little food, such that now even a lost pig would fetch a tidy little sum in refugee-swamped Beregost. _Much_ more valuable to the group would be a suite of bandit warhorses: horses like the ones Aegis now road east towards Gullykin.

The party had only rounded up enough hooves to mount _one_ of their three subdivisions. With that in mind, it had been easy to see that Aegis—being both their leader and the target of several previous assassination attempts—needed the protection with overland mobility could afford her. So while this meant that Xzar and Edwin were both enjoying the luxury of speedy transportation whilst near everyone else was walking, horse-distribution strategies had raised no complaints from Xan, despite the fact that he looked to have set himself in a feud with both other wizards.

No, Xan looked happy for the time being. Everyone looked rather happy. In fact the only _unhappy_ person in their group was poor Jaheira.

"Damn Kivan and his demons," she muttered so that only Khalid might hear. "It ought to have been_ him_ guiding this group towards the 'archaeology site' or whatever it is, and_ we_ who traveled East with the girls."

"I-if your feet are h-hurting you that badly, my dear," Khalid cleared his throat and smiled teasingly, "might you try s-summoning a steed of y-your own?"

She levied a stare at him for daring to intentionally misinterpret her ire. He smiled back innocently until a little smirk broke through on her face. Still, it seemed she was convinced of the need to remain displeased on the whole of the matter: "They have no proper healer, and we now have two."

"They do have two wizards," he proffered, because most adventuring parties suffered for lack of even one.

"Precisely my point: a Zhent and a Thayvian, both of reprehensible moral character and need a stern eye on them at all times," she muttered gloomily. "Not to mention Kivan himself, whose suicidal tendencies might try to abscond with his _sanity_ at any moment and wander off to go give Xzar's a run for its money.

Khalid was just about to concur, when her last statement left him grimacing at its severe callousness. Still, "Th-that n-necromancer is a gh-ghastly horror," he agreed aloud. "Of the s-sort I've never seen. I knew what we were d-dealing with in r-regards to s-sell swords like Montaron, o-or Kagain. B-but you know, I see G-gorion in _Aegis_ every day. I trust her insight. I do."

"Hnh. I'm unsure what _I_ see, short of _recklessness_."

Khalid glanced at her in surprise and then reached over and felt her forehead with the back of his hand. She scowled at him in confusion. He smiled helplessly and said: "It is very _unlike_ you to be 'unsure,' Jaheira!"

She couldn't help but smile. He cleared his throat and tried to push the topic back on track:

"A-and, about E-Edwin. Th-the Red Wizard grew up among t-tyrants. If he is th-the heir of a province, h-he and Imoen h-have to part ways. B-but life has its meetings and partings... we all leave marks on one another, good and bad."

She gave a bitter toss of her head, despite the fact that she had been the first among them to pardon Edwin. "How unfortunate then we live in a world where good marks fade swiftly and scars last."

Khalid frowned and bristled slightly. He looked quickly away, and tried to gather his thoughts, but everything came in a sharp rush of breath and a rapid heartbeat: "That isn't true." He shook his head, because it wasn't. "I am more than the sum of my scars."

Jaheira looked to him. "Oh, Khalid, I didn't mean..."

He shook his head and made a gesture to stop her. "It is good for Kivan to be traveling with young vivacious people," he asserted. "He needs it. Aegis isn't the only person in the world who needs to be saved from something, and she has the ability to commandeer allies where other people would find only enemies. Not everyone is so lucky. Some of us need other people. Need good marks to blot out the scars."

His wife slipped her hand silently into his own. He realized he was shaking, and took a quivering breath to steady himself.

"I-I'm sorry," he blundered through a rattled apology. "O-only... Only it's almost _that_ time o-of year again, and n-now that we know Aegis i-is... I cannot help b-but... dwell o-on..."

"Hush. Hush. _I'm _sorry." Jaheira squeezed his fingers, and walked shoulder-to-shoulder with him for support.

...

* * *

It had taken some scant three hours of travel for Ajantis to realize that, despite being appointed the 'leader' of his sub-party, all genuine control rested entirely with Viconia. Indeed, it was a wonder he'd ever expected any differently; but on close examination, it was the _means_ by which she held control that most bemused him. Her sexuality seemed to have garnered her some bizarre sort of alpha-female dominance status over the entire party, man and woman all included. Of course Coran was happy to indulge her in almost any respect, but Viconia was also keeping both Eldoth _and_ Shar-Teel in line, even with regards to one another.

How exactly did that logic pan out? Viconia was sexually desirable, and therefore Shar-Teel and Eldoth ought to avoid confrontation with her, and so ought not to bicker where it might annoy her? T'was a sort of madness that merited further observation, to be sure.

But yes, in between the barbed retorts, languid put-downs, backhanded complements, and sensuous glances, Viconia had her whole party wrapped about her finger.

Which was a terrible state of affairs, given that Viconia had all the emotional stability of a hyperactive fae, and was given to ridiculous, petty displays of immature anger and derision at a moment's notice. No, as invaluable a teacher and friend as he considered her, Viconia deVir was still _not_ Ajantis's ideal solid foundation on which to build a stable adventuring troupe.

Hmm.

Meanwhile, by the sixth hour, Eldoth-the-Scald had cleverly teased Viconia into two separate 'droll' conversations, both of which he then terminated sort of abruptly on a high note that he might wander off and pamper himself. Was this... flirting? Coran watched and bantered with Eldoth, which Ajantis might initially have presumed meant nothing risque was afoot, except that Coran seemed to find all competent competition _delightful_ rather than threatening or insulting as would have been normal for a man, and so was utterly useless in gauging whether a coup-de-etat of Primary Consort was in the works.

Of course Shar-Teel was taking every opportunity to make obscene gestures at Eldoth, but only when she thought everyone-but-Viconia was looking, and strangely the warioress was rather quiet. (She also looked to be pointedly avoiding Ajantis, which the paladin could not decide how to feel about: Good? Bad? Helm above, all of this was _absurd_.)

After a full ten hours, Ajantis began suspecting Eldoth had laid a bet with _someone_ in which he'd claimed he could replace Coran as Viconia's chosen sexual partner for the evening. It wasn't that Eldoth had tipped him off by laying it on too thick, trying too hard, or even seeming particularly interested in the drow, no. No, in fact, if Ajantis had been asked to demonstrate why he thought any sexual tension was building, he would have been left dumbly stumbling for words. His only real evidence of _anything_ was that Viconia had started up a conversation with Eldoth about _Eldoth's homeland_, and the only way that could possibly be true (Bless her, but Viconia just didn't care about other people's mundane lives like that) was if some sort of seduction was in action and _it was actually working._

That... or Viconia wanted everyone to _think _it was working so as to retain her dominance over the party.

_Watcher in Heaven, is this how dishonest people have to think all the time? So many suppositions and inferences and guesses and jumps and maybes and opposites, just to create 'power' through obfuscation?_ _This is like an abstract nightmare about a convoluted sailor's knot_. _It is the absolute definition of ridiculous. Bards are nightmares. Uhg. Sharrans are nightmares. _

He rubbed his forehead to try and get rid of all of this unnecessary _thinking _that the 'cleverness' of his traveling partners mandated.

...

* * *

When they finally stopped for the evening and set up camp, Ajantis and Coran found some common ground in that realizing that they had both convened in the same place to build a camp fire and cook food. It earned Coran points in Ajantis' esteem, at least. They assembled their provisions and settled upon a meal without having to speak

"Don't look now," Coran whispered conspiratorially while they worked, "but I think we are traveling with two adorably vain freeloaders."

Ajantis blinked at him in startlement. Despite Coran's hovering about Viconia, Ajantis hadn't yet had many conversations with him. He didn't really _know_ Coran.

But anyway, the elf winked and tilted his head towards where Eldoth and Viconia were debating something; the former was sitting and strumming his harp, and the latter was very pointedly inspecting her nails. To Ajantis, it looked like some bizarre sort of contest, in which two 'manipulative persons' one-upped one another in an effort to decide who could get away with less work done. He wondered if he ought to call Viconia out on it before it escalated, but then decided it was best not to undermine her in what was clearly a war of giants over an invisible and make-believe prize-of-lies which he could scarcely comprehend but which was indirectly keeping Shar-Teel and Eldoth civil with one another.

A man had to look to the small victories, sometimes.

"He isn't bringing out the best in her," Ajantis eventually decided.

Coran laughed, blew on a budding ember, and then leaned back and gave Ajantis a companionable pat on the shoulder. "I find it odd you tolerate _me_! For a holy man, you're not half bad." Ajantis grunted. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen."

"That, only? And you are up north here by yourself?" the elf's face actually sobered a bit. "Your mentor must trust in your ability a great deal."

Ajantis shook his head and looked back to the meal he was preparing. "Not exactly. A knight or squire had to come to Baldur's Gate, just as someone else had to go further north to Neverwinter, or east towards Iraeiabor or south to Tethyr; each to try and locate the epicenter of this mounting iron crisis. But now that I have actually found a real _lead_ and sent messages back, my mentor has asked me if I felt I could see this part of the investigation through to the end."

Coran raised a brow. "Alone?"

Ajantis smiled thinly. "With war threatening, more than one paladin from Amn might be viewed with suspicion." Coran frowned. In another age, Ajantis would have innocently added on his primary concern: That nobles were summoning men to every corner of Amn for protection, and that he'd sensed Keldorn Firecam _needed_ him to do this. In another age, he would have conversed honestly and openly about the thinness of the Radiant Heart forces at present, with a complete and total stranger. Ajantis sensed no darkness emanating from Coran, but perhaps reticence was a virtue at times, and one he ought to practice.

"Do you actually _feel_ capable?" Coran asked slowly. "I mean, hmm, that's a lot of pressure on a young hawk who has only begun to stretch his wings."

Ajantis looked back up to where Viconia was now braiding her hair and admiring herself in a small silver mirror. "I am surrounded by capable people," he answered. And in that moment he realized he ought to keep Viconia securely atop of the party. Leadership, he'd just concluded, could still be achieved even when one had no direct control. Here, his greatest contribution would be just in dissuading Viconia from pitting Shar-Teel and Eldoth against one another for the amusement of it all. And if something compromised party stability later on, something unforseen, he'd act as was most prudent _then_.

After all: At least no hysterical enchanters, unfortunately violent rangers, or any eastern wizards were with them. That was _something _to be glad for.

...

* * *

Xzar: "Now just where did I put those jars of dopamine and serotonin?"


	37. Well Now That You Mention It

Xzar "Vital Signs are holding stable! Let's continue to idle for several chapters of mindless cute goey-goo relationship mush and dialog before progressing to any plot!"  
Aegis "Don't worry people, we've got this! It's very low-key stuff, back to basics; we've got plenty of chapters!"  
Xan "What? That's absurd. I have nothing to do with 'goey-goo' and have no idea what I'd do with such chapters."  
Xzar *Stares flatly* "No, of course not, you have never had a cute relationship moment in this *entire story.* What was I *thinking?*"  
Xan "... Well look at Viconia, she's just staring at us in confused mortification whilst Shar-Teel and Eldoth both simultaneously develop bulimia."  
Edwin {(I'm not saying anything. Nothing at all.)}  
Minsc "MINSC MISSES HIS WITCHHH!"

(I'm still recoverin.' Here's to hoping you guys remember where everyone is and what they were doing, as I'm gonna be struggling putting together good story-weaving for a bit!)

...

* * *

_**STILL TROUBLESHOOTING**_

...

* * *

Tallix was displeased with herself: she'd just gone and let a wizard go stumblin' about in a dark room with all his best ammo burnt out already! She gnawed her pipe. _Right unnatural, this 'growin old' business. Makes a person dumb and sleepy._

"I can feel your ill mood from here," Gorion murmured without looking up from runic door or spell book. Two cups of tea had put him back to sorts, and he'd resumed his work as if no mushroom-related incidents had ever occurred.

Eh? She cleared her throat. "We're old," she lamented.

His mouth quirked in soft smile, and the_ prettiness_ of it made her self-critical musings less relevant. After a bit, she dropped down from her perch and came up to investigate his hair. Quite disheveled, he was. She rummaged about in their things, fetched a brush, loosed the blue ribbon from his hair, and set to grooming him. There, this were rhythmic work enough. Soothed her mood, it did.

"How's the spellwork coming along?" she prompted conversationally, though she presumed fixing magical-doors-to-the-surface was more tedious labor than anything else.

"Well," he hummed thoughtfully, "It is convoluted, but uniquely suited to my skill-set. There is a taste of divine sorcery to it."

"The devil is 'divine sorcery?'"

"Power stems from a great many fonts," the wizard explained matter-of-factly as he dipped his quill in ink and kept writing. "Wizards, for instance, generate power through formulas, memorization, and study; But 'sorcery' is a blanket term for power that bubbles up from within like spring water. The two have similar visible effects to a bystander, but are very different internally."

Tallix glanced curiously to his face, and then thought back. "Most o' what I know o' mages be functional: What's dangerous, and what can or cannot be kilt. Yer sayin' ye kinda get the jist o' this spellry on account o' shared bloodlines with its maker?"

He confirmed her layman's understanding with a nod. "Mind you, I suspect he was diabolically inclined, not angelic. But then there are days I suspect the two are not incredibly different in temperament." He corrected a misaligned sigil. "There is a strange pleasure in talking 'shop' with you, Tallix Snapdragon. Even if I have learned a great deal more about poison on this adventure than I might have ever expected was healthy."

"Ha! Suppose so! Ye alone make can me chatty. Even my kin think me a closed book."

He smiled briefly her way, "You wear candidness well for someone who has danced about me in_ masks_ for so many years."

Alright now, that was just uncalled for. She likely blushed right down to her toes, or at least it felt that way on account of them being so warm all of a sudden. She finished with his hair, but lingered to watch him work. Best they stuck together. Besides, she had another question, one which took a bit to form as she tapped her pipe thoughtfully. "Riddle me this: Why've I heard wizards fling 'sorcerer' about like its a dirty word?" Gorion hesitated. "Is it on account of wizards feeling like sorcerers are 'cheating' because they get free magic without logging in the hours of study?"

He jumped at little and then broke out laughing. "Straight to the heart of the matter!" he cackled. "Though being a powerful sorcerer makes it incredibly _difficult _to become a skilled wizard!"

"Eh? How? I'd assume it'd give ye an advantage."

"Me, myself? I am not exactly a _powerful_ sorcerer, but I have learned something of what they go through." He sat back to consider the topic further and take a short break from the door. "Tallix, think of how naturally the act of 'breathing' comes to you; and then think of being told you cannot progress any further in mastering the fighting arts unless you come to understand every last muscle, blood vessel, and nerve which causes your lungs to expand and contract. That is how a powerful young sorcerer feels to be confronted by the studious demands of wizardry. It is not hard because magic is hard; rather it is hard because it is _boring_, and redundant-feeling, and the distractions and temptations of simply _being powerful _are very high. A flighty student—which a sorcerer often is—struggles to focus in such an environment.

Tallix could see where this was going, "Which means those youngins don't ever get their _fundamentals_ down. Which means, I'd reckon, that they can't diversify, and they get stuck doin' just one thing bigger and badder forever with brute force."

Gorion gave a curt nod to agree she'd grasped the jist of the situation. "The prevalence of wizarding culture in civilized lands—and its dependency on books—means that powerful sorcery has a connotation of being primitive, uncultured or at least unpredictable. And that's before we even get to critiquing Chaos Mages and Wild Surges and so on and so forth." He leaned back to continue writing.

She thought back. "This why Ulraunt forebade ye from teachin' classes to the young wizards studyin' at Candlekeep? Cause he sniffed a whiff of heaven in yer spellery and thought it dirty?"

Immediately, Gorion seemed to dislike this topic. But he answered: "Yes. Something to that effect."

"Rotter," she spat. "Hope he trips over a fire poker in the near future."

Her wizard's expression was dark, and she wagered he was thinking about a time fifteen years past, when Ulraunt's prejudices against 'special magic' had landed on a much more vulnerable target. "He thought himself sly," her wizard muttered, "when he inquired of her what she felt magic 'tasted' like. I should have known his intention then by how contemptuous and smug he looked when she so blithely answered him with 'orange.'"

Hmm, a quick joke might shake him loose from this useless ruminating: "Aye? Well presuming we get past the initial hurdle of colors being flavors, I admit I would have expected either pink or purple before orange."

"She quickly added it would have to be a very _blue_ orange."

"Is that so? So is trainin' a powerful sorcerer in wizardry always like pushin a round peg through a square hole?"

Gorion took a deep breath, and let bad memories go. "That question requires an etymological or at least historical answer... It is difficult to obtain tutelage as a 'pure' sorcerer. There was an ancient time when 'sorcerer' 'cleric' 'druid' and 'wizard' were not incredibly different things, and where one's innate talent governed whether one ever even learned magic. But that was a timeless era of elder races, where 'lesser races' like ours—humans and hobbits—dwelt in the mud. Now we have standardization of wizarding schools and modern magical theory; we live in an era of books, and in an era dominated by wizards."

"Nae a terrible tradeoff."

"It is what it is: a double-edged sword. There are still powerful sorcerers in the world, but that does not mean they are accessible. Those few of them presently visible to a general audience are content to wait hundreds of years for the right apprentice, and may be happy to stay isolated and blissfully ignorant the world has gone on without them. In the current era, a young sorcerer's only two paths are either to learn the wizarding arts or else to just do whatever 'feels right' and hope it turns out for the best, and perhaps bumble into a mentor through adventuring." He was quiet a moment, and then twisted about to peer at her curiously. "If I might ask, why this sustained interest in the education of sorcerers?"

Tallix paused, smiled thinly through adrenaline, and made to twist the conversation elsewhere. Ice blue eyes caught hers, and she swallowed and finally cleared her throat to dispose of white lies. "Might be that one of me own has a bit of raw talent in this arena," she essentially croaked.

His eyes widened and then he quickly studied some internal ledger, calendar, or map. "_Which_?" he demanded a name.

"Ah, it's my secret," she dodged, once more in control of the conversation. "How does one get a kid o' that nature properly educated, if ye'd oblige a curious mum?"

He scowled slightly but then continued thinking, if likely plagued by mental images of furry-footed wizards. "It... _depends _on the child. Deciding to pursue a wizarding path was very straightforward for me. My father was a wizard, my ability to learn formulas far outstrips the strength in my blood. Only in recent years did my sorcery start leaking out as ice in response to stress, and make me realize I ought to have given it more attention. As for _melding_ sorcery and wizardry... I have only ever done so unconsciously."

"So yer an unqualified tutor is what yer sayin?"

He whirled on her with a strange, fierce and almost possessive glare, as if daring her to suggest he'd _let_ any magical professionals near her newly-understood-to-be-magical-child (whichever one or ones it was!) until he had quite thoroughly tutored her! (or him! Or them!)

"Tallix there are too many variables you aren't sharing! What is the _ego_ of the child? If it is Anaxa, and if that is why you have called her a 'pyro,' then I recommend your immediate course of action be to find a very large and friendly dragon to board her with! Never fear about the difficulty of procuring dragons: You are wealthy, and they have a universal weak scale for large sums of gold!"

Tallix burst out laughing. She couldn't help it; he was so flustered! He eyed her in curious, frustrated, puzzled bemusement:

"_Which child?"_

"Nae, nae! Won't tell ye!"

"A child with no small power, to be educated in magic theory..." Gorion grumbled, crossed his arms over his chest, and thought. "That is easier said than done. Such a child would have demands that _any_ wizard will be hard-put to satisfy: first that he appreciate both the advantages and disadvantages of tacit knowledge and not dismiss them; next that he might demand mental exercise over rote memorization; also that he be capable of making the same intuitive leaps as the student without holding them back or frustrating them; then that he adapt and use new exercises to steer a path back to fundamental knowledge; next that he be understanding of what his student is going through in having traversed difficult paths first so that the student need not have to; and lastly even that he exhibit enough pure power to answer questions far in advance of the student's progress and thus secure the student's respect for the long term.

"Simply put, one requires a mentor who is _also a sorcerer_."

...

* * *

{There's a sense to this, I swear it,} a restless Red Wizard muttered somewhere beyond the curve of her lumbar. A page was flipped, and an inkwell tinkled, and then the scritch-scratch sound of inspired note-taking filled the air.

Imoen yawned, rubbed her face into her forearm, and reached out to pat for exactly how her partner was presently configured within the confines of the tent. He must have crawled half over her to get to his pack. She found the slope of a thigh, the edge of a book, a random scroll, and the curve of a hip; she then reached up to locate his shoulder. Aha! She found his hair and pet over it. The sound of note-taking didn't pause, but he pressed the corner of his mouth gently into the curve of her palm.

"Hey," she mumbled sleepily. The air above them in the peak of the tent was illuminated by magical means. "What's-"

{Working, busy!} her Thayvian hissed with the urgency of a hunter who had very nearly trounced his quarry. He snatched another book and bit the quill between his teeth as he quickly thumbed through the pages. He found a page, looked about, and balanced it on her shoulder for lack of space.

Imoen would have giggled had she not been so drowsily content. Instead she just stayed where she was and held that book in place for him as she dozed, because Edwin was nothing if not excruciatingly well-ordered, and so waking up to find herself suddenly misappropriated as a desk meant a creative emergency was afoot. "Got it?"

He grunted his answer. Moments went by in tense mental labor. The quill paused, and he fumbled in searching for something. {Where the devil is that thrice-damned abjuration fragment?}

She found a likely suspect in a scroll that had rolled near her foot, picked it up with her toes, and offered it backwards to him.

{Oh. Yes!} He took it, juggled the book on her shoulder to another position, rested a scroll note on her shoulder, scribbled a note somewhere else, quickly copied and altered and diagrammed something. He seemed to remember she'd asked a question. {Presuming needless embellishment in otherwise structured prose is insufficiently canny of me and does insult onto the author; there is an order here beneath the whimsy, and I can taste it.}

"Mm? You should probably turn it upside down, then."

{Now is not the time for babbling–!} He paused and then, to her earnest delight, turned it about.

Frantic quill-scratching ensued! Tense moments passed in silence. Then the quill paused with a hard dot, and he grinned so hard she could veritably hear it.

"What time is it?" she yawned again, stretching out her arms now that neither was precisely needed for impromptu lectern duties.

{What?} he snapped amid excitement, but then laughed. {Not yet dawn. Ha. Finally I have an in to this archaic spiraling!}

"Lemme see," she demanded curiously as she rolled about and sent papers sloughing.

Edwin propped himself off of her and rolled onto his back to join her in the pillows. He pulled books with him that he might show her what he'd found, and held the volumes up and overlapping with a relevant scroll sandwiched between them: one, his spellbook, two: Gorion's—his source material—, third: Khelben's workbook with an ornate knot pattern in the illustrated border, fourth: a reference scroll. {These weavings were so acutely abstracted by your old Harper that they seemed meaningless and obfuscating artwork- but look, here is it's source inspiration, or a derivative thereof, and it inevitably led me back to what he was substituting it in for...! Clear as crystal.}

Nails traced across the pages, bringing Imoen's attention from location to location so she could see the path he'd followed. This was basically a personal code which Edwin had just broken, and though no small set of inferences! The finalized runes faithfully followed the aesthetic pattern they belonged to, and were sensible in their purpose once one placed them in each final picture. She looked to him in surprise.

"You just woke up in the middle of the night and figured all of this out?" she wondered. "From a design, in a margin, in a story about little animals with coats? Who are you and what have you done with Edwin?! I'll have you know I'm the paper-dragon-folder of this relationship...!"

Her Thayvian laughed, thrilled by his own victory. {Well, there is a saying the most beautiful muse only ever visits whilst bathing, eating, and sleeping,} he teased jovially, {though I would like to report that if this is true, it is only after excruciatingly hard work hitting thousands of dead ends, and she must find him with a quill at hand!}

"Good _gods_," Imoen agreed very seriously, and fluffed up her hair, "you're going to need more quills. Look, I think there's some over on the left, there."

He gave her an incredulous and bemused look and then broke out into another grin, settled down his work to the side, and reached across her. "Thank you, Kwefai,"he purred into her neck, and Imoen was immediately very excited about what other inspirations had elicited such bawdy pillow talk as 'thank you' from a Red Wizard. She wrapped her arms about him and scooted closer, but that put an inkwell to teetering which she very nearly caught from splashing all over them. He jumped, blinked, and then looked around them both with an almost bewildered expression "Ehm, ah, let me just clean all this, eh... up a bit... ehm, first..."

She tried _so hard_ not to laugh. "Of course, of course." She straightened a make-belief collar of a make-believe outfit for him to keep him make-believe presentable. He raised a brow at her. She snickered. He scowled. She shrugged helplessly, and he squeezed her firmly, pressed his mouth into her temple, and then set to tidying.

...

* * *

"So yer telling me unless the whelp's worthy of Elminster's ilk–" Gorion shot her a dirty look. "–yer actually the finest tutor ta ask fer, eh?"

"The Silverhand sisters survived Elminster's fostering of them by their own merit, by teaching _themselves _everything. And I do mean everything: Magic, Cooking, First Aid; the selfish fool was inclined to disappear planes-walking after curiosities and guilty pleasures half the time, and his Unseen Servants were no replacement for genuine nannies. As for myself... I can and will serve as a tutor for your sorcerer, but I believe we would need to find a more suitable mentor for the long term."

Tallix leaned back to eye him. Gorion watched her almost warily, and repeated his query:

"_Which?_"

She smirked. "How's one spot a 'wizardin' sorcerer,' if one's inclined to look?"

He did not like this chase she was leading him on, but answered her nonetheless: "Given cultural stigmas against sorcerers in many wizarding cultures, they often lay low. Finding one requires quite a lot of mucking around in history books or divination spells; conducting an awkward and sometimes unflattering or unwelcome investigation into other peoples' bloodlines."

"Where can one find em above ground, if one wanted ta?"

"Rarely? Rasheman," he answered simply, as if it were something any wizard worth his salt knew off the top of their head. "But even if you could secure one's attention, the Wychlaran demand custody into adulthood and will not train boys."

She frowned and consider this.

"For your note-taking purposes, it is more common to see magical lines passed down matrilineally than paternally."

"Me bloodline's dry of fun like that," Tallix dismissed.

"You are a _Chosen_. By definition you are no longer precisely mortal. You were gifted part of your diety's intrinsic essence."

Tallix raised a brow at him because she'd never thought of that angle—and of course she was a mite worried he'd just dragged his own mood down—but seeing the sustained and frustrated curiosity on his face, she shrugged. "Kid's not channeling death magic, so put that worry ta rest." It was sort of sweet to think he'd not be terribly judgmental if that had happened, though.

"It doesn't always manifest as one might initially presume."

"Nah, he got it from his pa."

"_Calderan_," Gorion seized victoriously, whirling towards her, and she cursed herself. "It's the boy, the middle child,_ Calderan_. He's thirteen, and _a born sorcere__r_, and you've yet to find him a tutor?"

"Well...!" Tallix fumbled, reaching up to rub the back of her neck and hopefully looking as bashful as she felt. "He were interested in different things at the same time: swordfightin', storybooks, numbers, and I sorta wanted ta ask _ye_ if ye'd–"

"Ask _me_? You know, old hag, these are the sort of narrative acrobatics that work better when one is thousands of miles away and communicating in magically sealed letters. Now that I am dwelling on the issue, I am realizing I knew Anaxa's and Paewyn's name before you arrived, but not Calderan's. You did not tell me anything about him through our private correspondences—not his name, not his birth date, _nothing _whatsoever but that he existed—and now somehow you say you have been dragging your feet in educating him because you were thinking about—or somehow dreading?—bringing up his magicking skill to me? _Why_? Something about this reeks, and you are not telling me what."

This she could handle: "C'moff it Rion, I weren't necessarily sure ye'd be keen on me proposin' ta meet ye in person! We ain't got the cleanest history, and what with Aegis nae quite havin' left the nest just yet, I–"

Except Gorion was already ahead of her, and not slowing down: "If he is just about to turn thirteen, and Aegis is twenty-one, then he was conceived when she was six. Six and a half. That was immediately after you left Candlekeep. And you left Candlekeep with two potions of fertility you'd purchased from Telthoril under the pretense of wanting to start a new life, a new family. You didn't even wait until you'd reached Luiren?"

"Yer surprised I dinnae wait months of hikin' ta lose me knickers ta th' first cute thing I met outside that monastery?"

"Bhaal was still at large." Ice eyes riveted on her on a moment, then widened.

That alarmed her. "The boy ain't his kid!" she held up her hands in protest. "Ain't I just told ye he ain't conjurin up death magic!? Kid's very nearly a wee little paladin–!" But she'd misplaced his sudden wave of understanding by a landslide, and confirmed his true suspicions.

"He's _mine_?" Gorion breathed, and hearing the words uttered aloud for the first time shut her mouth up good. The wizard hesitated. "You said this year. _This_ year he'd be thirteen. That leaves the months of Uktar and Nightal. You left Candlekeep on the twenty-first of Nightal, and halflings stay gravid for twelve months after conception. You didn't hurry into pregnancy enroute to Luiren; you conceived Calderan the night _before_ you left...?"

"I didn't know," she croaked. "I didn't know that would happen. Honest to the gods, I drank the potion _afterwards_. Didn't think to wonder whether a man's seed waits around fer a bit. Didn't have any reason to believe– And then, babies, ye know, they all look sorta the same really, and–"

Gorion didn't interrupt her this time, merely stared.

She interrupted herself with a hard swallow, and then it all came out low and earnest: "I started a thousand letters. I didn't know how ta tell ye. I thought ye'd freak out or throw a fit. On account what Lullorin– on account of what _Bhaal_ did ta ye. Spare few o' me nieces or sisters ever kept a man in their lives, so I reckoned t'were mine ta handle anyway. I knew ye needed ta be at the top of yer game, and focused on Aegis, and nae getting distracted by distant confusin' maybes, and-and I tried to tell meself it weren't for _sure._

"But– But I_ knew_, I knew the moment I saw his eyes. And by the time I couldn't pretend no more because there were feathers in his damn hair, _years _had gone by and I felt like shit, sittin' on the knowledge for so long, but that made it all the harder to start tryin' ta raise the topic, and so I jest let more time go by, and the more that went by the more I could nae forgive meself fer nae sayin' anything but that made it harder and harder and harder and..."

"I have a thirteen-year-old son?"

The question was so quiet and so soft that Tallix wanted to disappear into a shadow and hide from it. "... Aye..."

For a long time, his expression remained confusingly blank. "With furry feet?" he slowly postulated.

Tallix cleared her throat. "Um, aye."

"I see." Then he reached out to her, and grasped her shoulders, and pulled her to him, and folded her in a hug, and placed his chin upon her head. He didn't say anything. His expression probably didn't change. But he hugged her, tightly, tight as she'd ever been hugged.

Her voice was muffled by blue robes. "I'm sorry."

He squeezed her and mumbled into her hair: "No need. I already forgave you."

...

* * *

(The author feels obligated to point out that the existence of Calderan makes Aegis and Montaron cousins, making Aegis' joke about being half-hinfolk for running about without shoes in Part I one of the longest planned dramatic ironies of this entire story. And yes, yes I do have no life.)

...


	38. Ugly Memories

_**Ugly Memories**_

* * *

This weather was damnably cold, even with the buffer of a pallet. Seasons did not fluctuate so in the Underdark. She was coiled up tight with her arms fastened across her chest like steel bars and her knees very nearly up against them. She tried to tell herself it was _only_ the cold that made her huddle such, but something else was worrying at the corner of her mind, leaving her unnaturally malcontent.

She felt as if her nails might pierce the skin of her palms. This suggested anger, no? Frustration, at the very least, and yet a word for her displeasure eluded her. The silence of the night stretched long, broken by every tiny little sound of nature: every bird, every rustle of her traveling crew within their tents, every crackle of snow dripping from overladen branches.

"Ajantis."

Had she spoken loud enough to wake him? He didn't move or answer her, and she bit at her lower lip. She was not going to call out a second time, like some mewling-

She heard Ajantis prop himself up, and felt as he shuffled closer to her. He leaned over and negotiated the tail end of his blankets until he'd thrown the corner across her legs. He didn't breach her own blankets, electing to put an arm around her and them both as he settled in against her.

"Are you alright?" he asked her.

What sort of question was that? Why embrace her at all? But then she had solicited the attention. Was this not the same idiot who had once greeted them with righteous platitudes? Yet now Ajantis thought himself clever enough to _read _her?

She must have taken too long to answer. "Viconia?"

"Why do you think you've permission to touch me?" she snapped. "If you must cling so, then at least be silent about it!"

He was quiet for a moment before aquiesting with a sigh. He didn't say anything, but signed in the Underdark way where she could see: '_Yes, mother.'_

'Mother'?! She turned to glance back at him, great orcish thing that he was. He didn't budge, his face pressed into her shoulder. Into her hair. He couldn't have been asleep yet, but his expression was just as serene and careless, and somehow that took all the angry bitterness out of her and left her feeling naught but tired.

_Fool_. To a drow, 'mother' meant as much as 'lord and master.'

... This was a waste of mental energy when they had quarry to pursue on the morn. She'd rather sleep. Ajantis was, at least, warm and had done as she required of him.

...

* * *

The light, quivering notes of a well-muffled lyre signaled that Eldoth had joined her in the party marching line that morning. He'd taught her the word, 'lyre,' just ahead of any practical need for it, entirely so that she might feel _informed_ and therefore pleased with herself. How clever of him.

"I _have_ to ask," the bard pouted.

Of course he did. The moral and sexual inhibitions of paladins were proving so poorly understood by other surface dwellers that they served as a valuable and poetically ironic tool for misdirection and obfuscation. She affected irritation to hide endearment towards the bard; neither of which she actually felt: "Yes, male, what is it now?"

He called the 'angry tone' bluff she'd dutifully supplied him with, but then danced ahead of questioning why she shared a tent with Ajantis. "How exactly are you keeping one-over on poor Shar-Teel? Is she jealous of all the attention you get, or of the attention you're giving _them_?"

Ooh, this _bard_. He was a delightful and silver-gilded little asp, knowing just when to show submissiveness and when to be flippant, mean, or sultry. He knew what he could _get away_ _with_, and how to use it. There was little reason for any woman _not_ to be thrilled with such entertainment. He did credit to his profession, and Viconia would be lying if she said there wasn't a little part of her that relished this sort of well-trained 'handling' provided, of course, she could bloody him a little.

But in another sense, that part of her was gray and faded; she felt cold contempt for the bard. Perhaps she was wiser under Shar's guidance.

Viconia knew what to pretend, and what to 'secretly' be feeling, and where to yield, and where to affect sensations of defeat or victory. It came so _easily_. Was this all built into her, then, as a sixth sense? A sense of _betrayal?_ Quaint. But lies, risk, and veiled flattery had once factored so heavily into every part of her life—of her _culture_—that she could scarce be removed from them. Eldoth had been forced to figure everything out on his own, touch-and-go, with every new conquest. Held up against the drow, he was a novice.

A novice not to be underestimated, of course. This particular _boy_ pursued some goal beneath his oiled surface, and if she missed so much as one feint, one theme, one odd yield, she might walk her party straight into a trap. Advantages in upbringing did not preclude her need to _work_ for things.

In any event, his 'jab' at Shar-Teel had a simple answer: "Why can't it be both?" she drawled. "Or why need it be either? When I and my sisters were little, we liked to amuse ourselves prodding the gladiatorial trolls with heated tongs through the bars of their cages. The pain was their due to us as their matrons, and drove them mad; but they could do little to us, and so became that much fiercer when we threw them into combat." How useful it was, coming from a dark and brutal civilization about which people knew nothing; one could twist or make up any story at all to enforce any kind of point one wished, and no one would think to question its authenticity.

"How cruel," Eldoth shuttered his eyes at her.

"Perhaps. As for you, little man," Viconia purred charmingly as she felt about herself for a comb, "take note of what side of the arena you are on: in or out. It doesn't seem to me like you've much a cage between yourself and your troll."

And to make sure he thought _she thought_ she'd won the encounter, she wove just a little of one of Imoen's 'hops' or 'skips' or whatever into her gait as she pulled ahead of him and came up behind Shar-Teel. It looked like she might as well give the fightress some of that much-needed 'attention' the bard had mentioned; so she stole Shar-Teel's helmet and began combing her hair while they walked.

Whatever expression Shar-Teel wore probably looked more stunned and confused than if someone had smashed her in the face with a shield (again); but aside from a small hiccup in her step the fightress didn't protest; not even to stop walking, curse, grab her helmet, throw a punch, or turn around to ask if Viconia had lost her mind. Perhaps she could tell the objective was to set Eldoth to gagging; there was hardly any plan in that vein she wouldn't have immediately approved of.

...

* * *

When Coran tapped on his elbow and gave a little chin-jerk towards the rear of the file, Ajantis could not possibly be prepared for what he'd see. He did a double-take on realizing The Party's Spontaneous Hair Care Alliance had finally claimed another vicim. To be fair, it was something of an enigma how Shar-Teel had held out so long whilst everyone from Kivan to Xzar had been getting cosseted by _someone_. Perhaps her delightful personality had sufficed to keep them all at arm's length for awhile, but when even Viconia had ended up a guileless convert, well! Shouldn't the fightress' routinely disheveled appearance ought to have attracted them like gnats? And with _red hair_ on top of it-

Oh, oh _gods_.

He turned away and tried to decide whether Shar-Teel was more feminine or more _terrifying_ in plaits, but Viconia surely aimed to be maximizing potential for both: she was tying all that flaming orange off in tiny braids with bright lavender ribbons and _that_ was a mental image he wasn't sure he'd be shaking loose any time soon. Why did Viconia even own ribbons? Was this a strange, trans-cultural elf thing? A woman thing? Shar-Teel only needed a crown of daisies and she'd be the most fearsome creature to ever grace a battlefield. Terrasque would turn and flee from approach!

He smeared a hand over his face, and then glanced over at Coran who was beaming from ear to ear and looked to find this all quite splendid. Gods, there would be no camaraderie there, not unless Ajantis wanted to burst out laughing with him at the insanity of it—No! No, absolutely not, they were not to do that! Shar-Teel would presume it mockery and _murder them both on the spot_, and, by Helm, he'd _deserve _it.

Think of anything but Shar-Teel's hair. Anything at all. Trees. Mongeese. The Plague. It would probably be less noticeable once she got her helmet back. No, no, THE PLAGUE, damn it!

...

* * *

It was a little known truth that Ajantis was learning to hold his own in conversations against lechers and leeches, and he'd also grown too wise to confront a cleverer man without preparing first. So when the squire started driving stakes for a tent and idly suggested it was Eldoth's turn to collect firewood, Viconia waited attentively to hear how it would all play out.

Eldoth smirked, shrugged, and continued tuning on his lyre as if he hadn't heard anything. Ajantis paused, fixed Eldoth with an apathetic expression, and said: "Mister Krom, either you can collect firewood or Shar-Teel can collect firewood; but if we're to expect her to take over for your turn in the routine, then she'll want to be provided with a good reason. Do I tell her you're simply too feeble to handle the raw physical labor demanded by picking up sticks, or should I resort to informing her you've developed a hangnail?"

Ha! Nothing beat Ajantis' delivery, not when he looked so guileless and dopey and could deliver barbs in such a disinterested deadpan! Such was the use of a well-trained paladin! That's a good little knight, mm? Hehaha! And though Viconia's sides were nearly splitting by the time Eldoth left camp, she decided to capitalize on this bone the Helmite had thrown her and so followed after the bard to accompany him. Not to help, of course, but to _supervise_ whilst he did all the work; and she'd get away with it so long as she made the chore less _tedious_ for him with idle conversation.

Ajantis signed a cute and silent 'you're welcome' after her.

...

* * *

"The paladin's no damsel that your wiles should work on him," Viconia teased as she met up with Eldoth at the stream and handed over a single branch. He eyed her tolerantly with half-lidded eyes, and then took the branch with a little, politely thankful nod.

"Never stopped me before," Eldoth assured her, likely cheered by the company. "Though usually that's the sort of type I spirit women _away_ from. Terribly boring to work with. Can't applaud your taste."

Boring, ah, Ajantis could be _boring_, but only if one failed to enjoy the ironies. "He serves his purpose," she chided, laughing. "A knight a day keeps the mob away and all that."

Eldoth liked this conversation, which was good; it made it less likely he'd balk the group at an inconvenient moment. "And the skirt-chasers, I'm sure. 'Invitation only' I suspect?" She winked. "Who entrusted you to his care, if I might ask? Aegis?"

Mm, whether to give Eldoth ammunition or to _retain_ it. Ajantis still wore a soft scale in his armor about having repeatedly fallen into party brawls with Kagain, and too much prodding at old wounds could shake apart group balance; but Eldoth needed to be kept 'happy' too, and that might involve tossing him a bit of dirt on their paladin. Perhaps not just yet, but she'd wander close enough to let him know there were fish at the bottom of that well: "Oh, I think that was as much for _his_ benefit as it was for mine. The little Knight-Squire has quite a lot to prove to his lauded order back home, and it sometimes manifests as braying like a she-rothe in heat for 'the good of the realm,' sword leading."

"Your gesticulation adds spectacular mental imagery to this story," the bard noted, amused. "And though I thank you for coming out to placate me, ebon vixen, you'll not win me over just yet."

She pouted, and didn't bother to waste this moment wondering whether she was ahead or behind; uncertainty alone might give him a leg up, and that wouldn't do. "Tell me the meaning of 'vixin,' now. You're _so good_ a teacher."

Sounds! A tiny rustle of twigs and grass! She brought her hand back into her cloak and discretely unstrapped her flail. Eldoth noticed, but elected to wait; a second later, a grinning bandit wearing leafy camouflage and holding a bow had eased into the space before them.

"Well, well, this looks promising. Hey kiddos, stop where you are! If you cooperate, no one gets hurt; and if you don't, then you'll both die. Very simple decision, I should hope."

Eldoth and Viconia shared a look, and then the former squinted tiredly at the man and asked: "What is it you want, and who are you again?"

"Oh, wanna make polite do ya? My name is Teyngnan," he jerked his head to the side where a woman spoke words of draconic and lit up her fingertips with fire (how could anyone, after knowing Edwin, possibly take that threat seriously?), "this be my girl, Jemby. And ah, the ugly one is Zekar," he glanced up, to where an unexpectedly graceful hobgoblin was perched in the trees with a full composite longbow drawn on her. "So in sum: hand over all your cash and you'll be unharmed. Pretty sure any gold _you_ got is worth less than your life."

Viconia heaved a great sigh and glared down at her feet. "Ajantis!" she called boredly, and since this didn't sound much like a call-to-arms, no one on the bandit side reacted just yet. Eldoth, not to be out done, sighed: "Shar-Teel!" which was incredibly amusing because it would doubtless get the fightress moving all the same.

Ajantis arrived moments later, sparkling in a full coat of steel platemail which veritably _no one_ in all the Western Heartlands could even imagine owning amid the Iron Crisis. The sight of him put the bandits on edge, but no one yet took action and, to be honest, it was Shar-Teel sneaking up through the shadows that they ought to have been worried about. "Viconia?" the squire asked. "What is this?"

"Well, Ajantis, we are being robbed," Viconia explained heavily. Without lifting a hand she signed 'there is one in the trees.' "Do you want to handle it, or should we? I mean, do keep in mind the bard's an expert in poison and I'm a drow; I just sort of imagined you might want the opportunity to go first, do it all the 'paladiny' way, or something like that."

Teyngan didn't look so cocky or care-free now, but he did know his team had two armed and properly allocated longbows. "Alright, you wanna play hardball?" he asked. "Throw down a purse, or 'Miss Drow' sprouts some fletching from her eye."

Coran took that moment to show up many meters away—and above—where he clasped his legs about a bough, bent himself down to Zekar's level, grabbed the hobgoblin about the mouth to silence him, and and calmly slit his throat with a skinning knife. The stealth-kill would have been conducted excellently and perhaps placed Coran for a _second_ kill if he could hold the body in place while aiming a bow Teyngan's way.

But of course that wouldn't be fair at all to Shar-Teel. The fightress charged out from the brush and charged head-long into striking aside a very startled longbow arrow and a likely-soon-to-be-decapitated _Burning Hands_.

Sadly, Ajantis' excellent 'shaming the bandits out of banditry' speech never did get to see the light of day; but he did slap a hand across his face and demand of Viconia in an angry whisper: "Why _ribbons_?! Why _purple ribbons_!?" Viconia beamed and patted his arm affectionately. He didn't know signed words for these things, or surely he wouldn't have risked being overheard by the ribbon-wearer in question.

Teyngan actually managed to draw out a longsword and ward off Shar-Teel's arm-jarring swings for a few seconds, which bought Jemby enough time to conjure up an overhead wall of wind, foiling Coran's further involvement. Ajantis heaved a pained sigh upon realizing he was needed, and marched his way forward to help his heavily-plaited comrade-at-arms.

But at that point the enemy wizardess must of realized she and Teyngan would be overrun just as soon as her enemies started_ trying. _She pulled the stoppers out of her bag of tricks and when next she cast the words did not sound simple. They sounded _familiar_, which was rare. Viconia frowned and narrowed her eyes. "I know this spell," she suddenly realized. "Ajantis! It's-"

An explosion of necromantic energy washed over them all as a _Horror_ billowed out from their shadows. It's projections froze an unprepared Ajantis in place and startling Shar-Teel into shrieking out-loud in alarm. Viconia lost sight of all of them, overwhelmed by a gargantuan image of Lolth that loomed over her and around her and advanced on all sides, spiders dripping with poison, flanked by an army of Yuguloths and drow.

"Shar-!"

It was never wise to underestimate one's opponents. The slightest blunder could mean _death_. Strength did not preclude the need to _work_. Viconia collapsed backwards to her ass, and then dragged her eyes away and covered her face and prayed furiously into her hands. She had to free one of the forward fighters! She had to dispel this mist from either Shar-Teel or Ajantis or they were all going to die!

_Lyre_ music flowed over the party, tearing through the Horror like raging floodwaters might sweep away blood. Viconia looked up and sucked in a deep breath as the images of Lolth faded. Shar-Teel had apparently powered through the spell effect by some means or another (had Viconia helped? Had Ajantis helped?) and now she was hacking and chopping Teyngan's corpse to bits and pieces, while a reeling paladin and a traumatized enemy mage gaped on.

The music stopped just as fast as it had come. Eldoth grabbed Viconia by the arm and heaved gently her up to her feet. Before Coran or Ajantis could recover, or Shar-Teel could switch targets, he loaded a bolt into his miniature crossbow, lifted it, and fired it straight at Jemby. He wasn't the best shot in the world and missed her head, but Jemby only managed to stagger backwards and gape at them all for a few seconds longer before her eyes rolled up and she collapsed in a foaming heap. Ajantis cringed.

"Are you alright?" the bard asked of the drow.

His voice jarred Viconia back to her senses, and she shoved him off of her arm with a frown.

"Good." Eldoth gave a little smile, calmly put his crossbow away, and then began whistling as he calmly turned about and resumed collecting firewood.

...

* * *

Below them, spilled out in the valley that made up Fisherman's Lake, half-ogres were feasting on the remains of displaced miners. A particularly talkative Nashkel-Native-Turned-Fish-Wrangler was reported by Coran to still be breathing, and was allegedly carrying on a conversation with several of the half-ogres who, for the time being, seemed more entertained than hungry.

Half-ogres, dim as they were, had excellent vision and a good vantage point for spotting enemies; and Fisherman's lake was only sparsely populated with trees and otherwise covered in a long grass that disadvantaged shorter folk. As the two least subtle of the party members, Viconia and Ajantis stayed far back and waited for Shar-Teel, Eldoth, and particularly _Coran_ to conduct reconnaissance.

"I am somewhat perplexed," Viconia admitted after a moment.

Ajantis glanced at her, grim-faced. "By what?"

"They are clearly half-human by complexion, so which parent was the ogre? The father? He would have split a human mother asunder—unless ogres simply are not hung proportionately to elves or men—but certainly no pregnancy could have been simple even if she _did_ survive the initial rape. But then neither does it make sense for the ogre to have been the mother, unless she was using the entire man's body as some sort of _toy_ prior to cooking with it."

"Viconia. _Must you_?"

"What? Are these not entirely valid questions to ask about these supposedly 'evil' hominids? Should we not wonder about their pedigree, personality, and why—exactly—they all seem fit for no lives other than banditry and cannibalism? Has not _one_ of them inherited higher intelligence or wisdom or something even vaguely approximating your scruples concerning honor? For that matter, have we even _seen_ any female ogres? How does one tell them apart from male ogres? Do they have breasts? Is the species patriarchal? Matriarchal? Egalitarian?"

"What is bothering you?" he asked as he came over to stand just beside her, his boots crunching on _more _of the fallen powder. "You seem torn between extreme good and ill humors, and I have not seen you without your arms crossed and your shoulders rolled in for days."

She shot him a glare. "You have again noticed I am _cold_. Congratulations."

He blinked at her once, unfazed, and then calmly lifted up his arm above her so that his cloak curved about where she was standing. So tall; _irritating_ how everyone was so _tall_! Him, most of all! That she should fit under his arm was an insult!

"The cold should _shudder_ to have made an enemy so ruthless as you," the paladin boy agreed. "But something else is on your mind. Earlier, when the mage cast her fear spell, did it show you something?"

"_Horror_ spells do not 'show' things, fool; they are not _Illusions _or Conjurations, but Necromancy. The magic enters into the body, and stimulates the organs to fear."

"Does it occasionally cause hallucinations?" he asked with a frown. "Because I believe Shar-Teel's reaction may have been atypical. The inclination to fight and the instinct to flee may be of the same coin, but they are on diametrically opposed facings..."

She laughed and and shot him a look she hoped was sufficiently poisonous. "That which is cornered, _bites_."

Ajantis gave a martyred sigh, filling the air with pearly clouds of warm vapor. He was quiet a moment, arm still raised above her head. "In detailing our traveling group to my superiors in Amn, I stressed that it was a conglomerate of very _different_ factions who had aligned specifically because of the far-reaching effects of this iron crisis. I described the presence of two who were openly mentioned to be Harpers, a Zhentarim agent, a Red Wizard of Thay, a warcleric of Tempus, a Witch of Rasheman, and," his voice soured slightly, "A Graycloak of Everska. My superiors were surprised but thrilled by the inter-factional harmony... which, as I'd hoped, kept them from dismay at such a large collection of wizards..."

"I didn't hear a 'Sharran Drow' in there," she noted, irritable and only half-listening.

"I protect you," he answered. "You are harder to detract attention from."

"And you think the answer is to _conceal the truth_? Traveling with a daughter of intrigue?" She turned a sneer and a laugh onto him. "Are you truthfully so _dim_? Is _logic_ the one muscle all paladins stalwartly refuse to exercise?"

"No, and this is getting old. You collapse into absurdly incensed tirades whenever we _glimpse_ the topic of religion together, Viconia, and it gives you away: You _fear_ you will be the thing to drive me from my god's favor, and so whenever you are confronted by the magnitude of your own sins, you you seek to protect me by the only method you know of: pushing me away."

He turned a piercing stare down on her, and Viconia recoiled a step.

"After the episode with the Flaming Fist, it is easy to infer you could well be out distributing alms to paupers and _somehow_ someone could still convince themselves to stake you. I am now taking fewer chances with the biases of well-intentioned men. Before you seek to turn those words on their heads, make sure you have not gravely misunderstood whom I serve: My deity is reputed to hardly _speak_, much less play loose with privileged information, and what little you know of paladins and their beliefs has been taught to you at the wrong end of a sword.

"Go on and continue to belittle me using whatever excuse pleases you: my faith, my age, my religion, my species, my gender. _I will still protect you. _But I grow to suspect, Vicona De'Vir, that the thing you need the most protection from is _yourself_. Yourself, your guilt, your sense of right and wrong, your memories, and the leftover tatters of a multi-century-bridge you forged between your soul and a goddess of spiders.

"If you refuse to trust, and let no one behind your walls—if you refuse help—then may Shar have mercy on your soul, but one day you will end up facing your old mistress _alone, _and somehow it will have been _your own doing_."

Ajantis dropped his arm and looked quietly back to the brush and there low-lying trees where their companions had long since disappeared.

AngerLaughterDerisonLoathingDismissalWrynessSmugnessHatredPoutingPlayfulnessYieldingSuggestingSparringRiposteCurseViolenceMockeryBloodTeasingSexualitySensualityBriberyNegotiationWrathLustSilenceBelittlementPowerplayNarrativeNarrative_Narrative—Narrative—Kissmoot—HighPriestess—Yuguloth—Slaughter—Sacrifice—Lies—Truths—_Ugliness_._

Her boots crunched in the powder. She stepped forward, into him, pushing aside his cloak to make room again. Plate mail would have been sharp-angled and cold to lean against without the buffer of her splint, but the way he turned into her and leaned over and and wrapped both arms tightly about her helped to block out the wind.

There wasn't much to say. Anything at all would have gone too much one way or another, and there was some strange peace upon the precipice for once. After awhile, Viconia did sigh and ask: "Where has your naivety gone, boy?"

"Shar-Teel helped me bury it a few dozen miles to the Southeast." Mailed fingertips passed very gently through her hair, careful not to catch on any of the strands, and filing them gently behind her ear.

"Why do you pretend at liking me, Ajantis? I am not much kinder to you than she, and you do not even have the sexual component with it to soften the edges. Isn't it _easier_ just to do things the old-fashion way...? With the name-calling and race-baiting; shiny swords and shinier honor? Stench of evil and all that?"

"Perhaps. But paladins don't get bonus points for 'easy.'" He glanced around as if to make sure no one holy or straight-laced could overhear and then cocked his head nearer to her. "And—between you and me—the company's a little _dry_."

Viconia laughed. Too hard. Too long. He chafed her shoulder and back to keep her warm while they waited.

...

* * *

Shar-Teel had returned with a grin on her face that promised a battle would soon be joined; but the moment she set eyes on Ajantis and Viconia standing so close together, her good humor nearly evaporated in lieu of a sneer. Viconia caught the change and gave an eye-roll, but it was Ajantis' reaction that actually mattered: he immediately left Viconia's side and hurried up to hear the figress's report.

The 'personal attention' helped, and Viconia shuttered her eyes thoughtfully. Something was _wrong_ with Shar-Teel. The fightress wasn't manipulative enough to be aiming for anything more complex than sex, so either she was _lying to them _about how 'little' she liked Ajantis, or else she was lying to herself. For all that she cussed him out and swatted at him and called him a boy, it was steadily becoming more and more obvious that Shar-Teel was also demanding shows of fidelity—or, at least, _abstinence_.

_Hmph!_

Shar-Teel waved them to follow, but Ajantis took the point as the three of them headed downward. "What is the plan?" a very composed Viconia demanded to be informed.

"We're going around them and creeping up this nice little ridge," Shar-Teel almost grinned but instead sneered at the paladin ahead of her. "We'll slam them on one side and get them all in a pretty line for the elf and the piss-wipe to take shots at.

Viconia elbowed Shar-Teel with a warning glance, and the fightress raised a brow at her. Viconia hinted they should slow down, and Shar-Teel did so that they might speak without Ajantis overhearing. "Shar-Teel, you are being absolutely and disgustingly pathetic."

"Excuse me?" she growled.

Viconia grabbed her arm and pulled her closer to listen. "And ordinarily I wouldn't care, but you are without a doubt the most sensible, straightforward, and refreshingly _intense _woman I have yet met on this miserably bright surface world of yours. Watching_ you_ of all people getting worked up over a _man_ is _sad._"

Shar-Teel grit her teeth together and snapped up to full posture.

"Just _fuck_ him," Viconia hissed instructively. "What is the problem? The _tents?_ By the gods, Shar-Teel, whose side do you think I'm on!? If this Helmite's overprotective inclinations are the reason he lets me close enough that I might_ drug_ him so you can do what you will with him, it shall be justice poetically served! I will do it _tonight!_"

She'd cut off any rivalry in the _bud_, surely, and a rebuttal that 'not everyone can get into his tent at night' died before it could ever be formed. Shar-Teel glared at her for a moment and then looked bitterly at the path ahead of them.

"No? _Why_? You are pacing like a hungry wolf. I have seen Kivan less worked up over ogres. Surely you are aware the boy is interested in you? Which is more than we can say about his attention to any other woman and which very nearly had me wondering if he liked Xan_._"

"You ain't slept with him?" Wary. Suspicious. _Making absolutely sure._

"What? If I were sleeping with that giant fool, it might be the one and only way he'd be able to figure out his only purpose is to stand between me and law-enforcement officials. What about my mechanization was unclear to you?"

The fightress snorted and looked ahead of them without saying anything. As if she'd _known_ Viconia and Ajantis hadn't touched been intimate, but still somehow didn't _like _seeing them together.

Viconia eyed her suspiciously and then lifted her chin an inch. "You _care _about him," she learned.

Shar-Teel eyed her much more dangerously than she had at any of the ruder fighting words Viconia had lobbed her way.

"Well then," Viconia did not belittle her. "The only way to deal with _that_ is to convince _him_ he wants to fuck _you_."

Shar-Teel took in a long breath through her nose, thought about that, and then spit to the side. "Yeah? Not everyone's got your looks, Beaut," the fightress sassed; but it _did_ look and sound as if she felt a little better.

"I heard no complaints from him whilst the two of you were engaged in the horizontal joust next door," Viconia disagreed. "Either time. Whatever moral scruples he has, they bend, and they submit, and they do it just for you."

Grunt.

"Hmm. Well until this is resolved, don't _pine_ like that anywhere that bard can see. Yes. Yes I said 'pine,' don't glare or roll your eyes at me when it's true. Stroke your delicates straight in the middle of the camp for all to see before you _ever _get caught _mooning _like that. _Ugh_."

Shar-Teel made a far more disgusted sound than 'ugh,' thought not at the suggestion. Then she asked: "Let me shiv him. The snake. I can do it quietly someplace only Coran'll find him."

"Later, later," Viconia waved, "Eldoth was very astute in not telling the party who is paying for each job, and we are on a tight time-table. Besides, you remember how Aegis is. He needs to 'leave,' first. Now back to the topic at hand: _you_ need to be having _sex_."

"Hnh. You offering?" Oh she was _definitely_ in a better mood.

Viconia glanced her up and down, sly and a bit curious. "I don't know, _abil_; Will it stop your brooding and put you back to sorts?" she groused playfully.

Shar-Teel grinned, a mean sparkle back in her eye, and she hushed Viconia and hurried her along towards the battlefront with a smack on the bottom. "Maybe next time."

...

* * *

Shar-Teel had a _beautiful _purple bruise over one eye that Viconia was half-inclined to let her keep.

"You," the drow accused as she turned the fightress's face gently to the side, "are counting heads against our archer, and I don't see any reason I should waste my _valuable energy_ healing someone who'd take a maul to the face just to beat an arrow to its target."

Shar-Teel tugged her head to the side, spat out a tooth, stuck her tongue through the hole. and then winked cheekily at Viconia and leaned forward with the grin of a satisfied bloodlust. "You don't have ta, Beaut. I've had worse."

Viconia sighed dramatically, but _gods_ this woman was splendid. "Hold still, you incredibly messy woman; I'll fix your nose while I'm at it, and the pain I'll cause you will be my recompense."

"Oh talk dirty some more, Sugar, it's cute on you."

Coran glanced shrewdly from a dismayed Ajantis—who had lost a shield to an overhand axe and very nearly lost his forearm with it, and seemed to be holding a vigil for equipment martyred in the line of duty—to Eldoth, who was wrinkling his nose at the two whilst he dusted his sleeves clean of dust. "I might be shooting an arrow in the dark here, but did anyone give those two 'ideas' recently?" Coran asked.

Eldoth smiled languidly. "Terribly put-out, are you?"

"No I wish to thank whoever in Tymora's name did it; they may have just increased the occupancy of my bedroll to three for a few hours."

Eldoth was very, _very_ disappointed. Ajantis was fortunately too busy patting his dearly departed shield to hear what surely would have killed him outright.

"What?" Coran grinned as he leaned on his longbow. "If a woman like that wants to sleep with a man, he can take it as nothing more than the _highest_ praise to his reputation and skill."

"If a man wants to sleep with a woman like that, his fellow men can take it as nothing more than a sign he is a masochist," Eldoth replied dryly, and then turned off to investigate the camp and likely 'appropriate' anything he knew they could not immediately identify as valuable. Coran watched him go and then went to join Ajantis.

"Should I, em, say a few words?" he asked the paladin.

"What?"

"Ha! Never mind. Between you and me, I think I know who Eldoth got this request from back in Beregost. Good man named Bjornin who stumbled into the Juggler half-dead a few days back. He's from Norheim—Branwen's People—but now that I think of it I think he wears the symbol of Torm."

Ajantis perked up a little. "I somehow _missed_ a Norheimer paladin stumbling into the Jovial Juggler?"

Coran shrugged. "To be fair, I don't miss much. But your party was really having quite the week back there, eh? Hey, look... I realize I'm a late-comer to this game, and it's not exactly reputable or professional of me to join up with an adventuring party and then immediately start sleeping with one of its ladies. Much less someone with Lady De'Vir's temper." He scratched at the back of his head. "But she's a fragrent rose when you get past the thorns, and I'm a bit of a sucker for danger. When we go into Cloakwood, there won't be any turning back. For logistical reasons as well as basic decency, I plan to have everyone's back. Wyvren head or no wyvren head. And I know there are plenty of... manipulative people walking these roads who just want to piggyback briefly on the good luck of adventuring folk, so I guess I just hope not to be _that guy _to you all. If I am, just let me know."

"Hardly. You apparently saved Minsc from hypothermia within days of meeting us. Can I draw your attention to something else, though? I've notice you hold back to try and pick targets away from Viconia. You don't have to. First of all, she won't notice or take it as as a sign of affection. Secondly it's not needed. She fights defensively, that flail keeps anyone from mistaking her as a soft target, and her splint is enchanted."

The archer sat back on the balls of his heels to consider that. "What do you suggest?"

"Help Shar-Teel spearhead through the front lines. She needs a spotter on her who has a full tactical view of the field. If you can intercept whatever's trying to kill her, she can take out an enemy party like she's dancing. She just... doesn't think defense."

"Duly noted. How does our leader fight?"

"Aegis? She... she struggles not to fall into a martial trance. When she's clear-headed, she and I can _almost_ keep Shar-Teel moving at a clip. When she's not clear-headed, we leave behind a lot of body parts, and then usually Viconia gets huffy about needing to heal flooded lungs and impacted kidneys..."

Coran eyed him for a moment and then grinned and gave a mirthful sound. Ajantis tilted his head to the side inquisitively. The elf laughed. "Oh, I just... never thought I'd end up making many knightly friends. Probably helps we're out in the forest, where expensive things aren't mysteriously ending up in my- well never mind. You know Iam disappointed by one thing: When I first surveyed the camp, I swear there was still a man alive. Give me a moment, would you? I want to count the half-ogre bodies."

"I'll help."

They were halfway through overturning and numbering their fourteenth half-ogre carcass when a polite cough from Eldoth (who was sitting on a high perch, watching and tuning his lyre in a nonchalant fashion that was probably best ceded to him) alerted them something was amiss. Ajantis dropped the body and frowned at him. Eldoth pointed with a foot to the east, where two people had just stumbled into the decimated camp out of the forest.

One of them was a Nashkel Fisherman, who could barely walk but looked happy as a clam. The other was a very confused female half-ogre who looked and probably smelled... _disheveled_.

Ajantis and Coran looked to one another with raised brows. Then the paladin turned about and raised his hands to his mouth.

"Viconia!"

...

* * *

The half-ogress's name was Dixi and she was apparently of mixed feelings towards the whole-scale slaughter of her shield mates. On one hand, she was clearly smitten with the addled fisherman she was leading about by the hand. On the other, she was feeling a mite angry her crew had been killed while she'd been... _busy_.

No one could conjure up any deep feelings that Dixi really _ought_ to be added to the body-count that evening, and she didn't seem so incredibly dim-witted that she'd attack them outright.

For a moment they stood in stalemate, neither side really sure what to do with one another (but Ajantis rather sure _someone_ ought to do something fast before Eldoth got bored and handled it all for them). Then Shar-Teel went to the camp fire the half-ogres had been using, took a chunk of (gulp) whatever they'd been cooking off the spit, and brought it over for Dixi to eat. As it turned out, a fed Dixi was a much more agreeable Dixi, who confessed she hadn't much liked Lug or Urg or Harkark much anyway.

AT this point the fisherman (whose name was Chelan?) piped up that _he_ had a plan for Dixi: the two of them would go to Nashkel, get married, and become world famous iron miners. This was only absurd if one was _highly pessimistic_, and the party ended up waving farewell to Dixi and Chelan as the two of them walked (and er, hobbled) their way southeast.

"_Well_," Viconia dusted her hands off as the rest of their party began to move out. They were headed further east, to where another matter required their attention on the coast.

Ajantis shook his head, hands on his hips. "You were right, they were valid questions."

"I'm always right, you fool."

Ajantis winced. "Don't say that. Do you know who says that? A Thayvian."

"_Ugh. _Strike it from your memory, _immediately_. 'I'm always right—_male_.' How was that?"

"Much better," Ajantis nodded approvingly. "You still look cold. I think you need to entreat your boyfriend, or romantic interest, or 'fling' or—"

"'Sexual services provider?'" she suggested.

"—as you wish it—to hunt you down some rabbits and line your armor with fur."

"Hmm... Is it as simple as asking, do you think, or do I need to be coy about it?"

"Save your wiles for tougher fare." He added with a sign, 'Your elf seems dependable.' She looked unimpressed but of begrudging agreement. 'What of the human...?'

'Him, do not trust,' she signed back quickly, and added that Ajantis was not to let him near their food, nor wind up alone with him, nor stand easily with him at their backs. Drow had single-sign abbreviations for each concept and together they roughly translated to 'be prudent'.

"He bothers you personally?" the squire suspected.

She sniffed. "He reminds me of home."

Ajantis eyed her. 'Poison. I'm safer bait than S-T.'

'Point acknowledged.'

...

* * *

Nashkel mines had once more begun producing proper iron, but with the path to the north blocked by bandits, the only way to ship iron to Baldur's Gate was by coastline. A fine plan, except that two days before leaving Beregost, a haggard man and his one remaining daughter had turned up warning Kelddath Ormlyr worgs had overtaken the coastal lighthouse.

Vai had been able to get in contact with an astrologer in the area who would attend to the lighthouse if it was freed, but the Flaming Fist was short-handed to deal with worgs. Somewhat understandable if one knew anything on the subject; worgs had the pelt of a wolf, but they were intelligent and weighed in heavier than the average pony. That was Ajantis' target now: to slay the worgs.

The situation was something of an emergency, which was why Ajantis' group had scarcely rested after dealing with the Half Ogres. Even as they spoke, ships had likely launched from Amn towards Baldur's Gate transporting precious iron, only to be faced with the dilemma of whether to brave the aptly named _Shipwrecks Coast _alone, or else to turn about and go home and face the possibility of destitution.

The region was suffering. Every tiny thing that went wrong threatened to once more collapse the entire system. How had Aegis' put it? 'Sleeping with too small a blanket.'

Somewhat bitterly, Ajantis wondered why the Flaming Fist hadn't been understaffed on the matter of capturing Viconia DeVir. One supposed Vai had needed to wait a few days...

A thought occurred to Ajantis:

The 'Iron Throne' was a mercantile organization, no? If they were doing well despite the current iron crisis, than their wealth could be used in terms of bribes; and The Flaming Fist _had_ once been a mercenary company.

At present the Fist was overseen by a Duke of Baldur's Gate, whom Ajantis had never met but about whom he'd heard good things. Dukes of Baldur's Gate were mostly proud and independent ex-adventurers, and prized their autonomy; it was unlikely one would be orchestrating the collapse of his own homeland.

On the other hand, how easy it must have been to hear of an drow in Aegis' company and to nudge someone into sending mages to Vai's aid?

Had this yet occurred to Aegis? Or to Xan? He shelved these thoughts away, along with the bitter realization that the Iron Throne's worst mistake may have been to set the bounty on Aegis' head through _illegal_ channels as opposed to _legal_ ones. Bribing an entire band of Flaming Fist Warmages might have seemed prohibitively expensive before Aegis had made a name for herself in Beregost and Nashkel, but the Throne was likely cursing itself for waiting too long. Now sending an arrest warrant to either Kelddath Ormlyr or Berun Ghastkill would do them more harm than good.

Ajantis glanced over at Shar-Teel as they walked, and wondered if it was possible to have a useful conversation with her about the Flaming Fist. A woman might have a better chance at it than he; all the more important he speak with Aegis.

...

* * *

"Ajantis."

He blinked groggily rolled over to look at the drowess. She raised a hand and in the gloom signed, 'Come?'

There was a small part of Ajantis that secretly feared Shar-Teel might bulldoze his tent one evening to try and catch him in a compromising position. She'd certainly been shooting glares at him all week just for standing next to Viconia (as if it were somehow odd that he should do so?) But they'd a long distance to walk in the morning, and no one was on guard duty that night; the camp was cold and quiet

If it came to the worst, alas. He shifted his palette over beside Viconia's, and settled down against her. She was warm, and he was starting to suspect this was more about _comfort_ than heat.

"You don't find this intimate?" his cleric asked after a moment.

Her irritable tone embarrassed him just a little, but he countered it with good humor. "My lack of arousal offends you? I suspect I do not have what men would consider a strong libido."

"Nor women," she muttered.

He yawned and glanced at her teasingly. "Did 'mother' make you feel old?"

She turned to stare at him.

"Would you prefer 'auntie' 'cousin' or 'sister'?" he quipped, and was surprised when her face suddenly crinkled as if in pain. "You've had a brother...?"

"Why are cycling through family designations for me?" she demanded angrily

"Well aside from you, Aegis, and the angry red-head, my entire past experience with female role-models amounts to a single wet-nurse," he attempted to soothe with a bit of mirth.

"You say that whilst entangled about me like a lover!?"

Ajantis winced, eyed her bitterly for a moment, and then rolled back from her and draped a forearm over his eyes. "Thank you for clarifying your displeasure, Lady De'Vir. Is that all you need of me this evening?"

"No! No that is not all!" she hissed unhappily, and then abruptly rolled on top of him, where she gave a sharp, pointed rock of her hips that made him jump in alarm. He quickly tried to prop himself up. "You dare withdraw as if in revulsion? As if this were not the normalized truth of what you were just doing!?" She made to straddle him.

"Viconia!" he protested, reaching out to stop her. "I wasn't-!" She tore her hands free of his, seized hold of his shoulders, and shoved him roughly down with a strength he hadn't been entirely cognizant she possessed. His eyes widened and he tried to roll over and get out from underneath her. She clawed into his arms so surely she must have bloodied him, and shoved him back in place again. "_Please!_" She propped herself above him with a furious, vicious expression. "Please don't. Vic-ah!" She ground herself down into his pelvis, cloth against cloth, heat against heat.

"There," she growled, eyes flaming mercilessly with her 'victory.' "I can feel it. Deny it, when I need but clench to make it move."

He gaped up at her for a moment, and then just as quickly looked off to the side and covered his heated face with a hand.

"That's it? A shy refusal to meet my gaze!?"

He took in a shaky breath, and then spoke calmly. "If you must take this from me, then take it. You are right: I have insufficient will-power to stop you."

Her thighs tightened in some perverse sort of 'punishment,' and he grimaced. "How _dare _you? As if you neither crave nor are capable of enjoying it?"

"I am positive you can make me do both. When you are done, I will don my armor and return to Amn."

"From _here_? And leave us all in danger and the region in chaos?" she laughed. "You are melodramatic, boy, but I know-"

"I swear this, Viconia DeVir," he snarled between finger tips, eyes settling on her. "Do not do this to me unless you are sure you want each and every one of its consequences, because innocence in a relationship cannot be reclaimed once it is violated. I cannot so undermine myself so as to risk becoming your play thing; do this, and _I will let you._ And then I will no longer be fit to remain at your side, defending you, as a Helmite. Do this—I hardly doubt your claims of _skill_—but then I leave with the dawn."

Viconia eyed him doubtfully and straightened an inch. His gaze was unyielding. "You sound as if you want me to."

"What did you expect temptation to sound like!? I trust you, you have no genuine interest in me whatsoever, and this- this-!" Rather than fight her he pressed both hands back over his face, and his voice shook to scratched whispers as he begged: "Please get off."

So many things a man at her mercy could and should fear. So many agonies, so many motives, so much _hate._

Furious, she pushed herself off of him, and dropped with a huff back to her pallet. He cried out in alarm and relief and—something—something which made him spin quickly towards her and wrap both arms around her, and hug her to him like she was a stuffed lamb. He smothered tears into her hair, and tried to collect his breath, and she could smell the salt of tears and feel his heartbeat thunder against her back.

Viconia lifted a hand up over her shoulder, and caught the side of his head. She held him there, and asked: "Little Brother?" He opened his eyes. She didn't turn to him, still angry. "The next time a woman sits on you like that, do not bawl. Throw her off."


	39. Shoal the Neriad

_**Shoal the Neriad**_

* * *

A strange smell was on the air, one which Viconia would have described as _almost _rotten but strangely not... and it was even bizarrely plesant if given a moment's contemplation. She frowned at it, for any strange odor might mean danger. The humans likely had not picked up on it just yet. She snagged Coran as he flit between scouting positions. "Do you smell anything?"

"Yes!" he grinned at first, and then smiled more fondly when he saw her concern. "Have you never been near the ocean before, Lady Panther? You'll have to tell me if you like the look of it once you've seen it. Always strikes an odd chord in elves; tends to make us wistful or nostalgic, in some illogical but perplexedly 'good' sort of fashion."

She didn't know what to make of this. "The ocean _smells_?"

"Sometimes better than others," he agreed.

...

* * *

A young woman appeared ahead of their party, looking frustrated and tear-streaked with clammy skin and red-rimmed eyes. She was extraordinarily beautiful in the face, though her cheek was purpled by a dark bruise. The shredded, navy blue, silk gown she wore was no proper clothing for such weather. Ajantis came to a halt, rightly startled. Viconia, who was walking just behind Ajantis in file, raised a brow.

"Oh! Oh, help me!" the girl's tone went from surprised to pleading as she ran to meet them. "Here, please help me! I've been too long in these trees, and these woods, and this _dirt! _I need help! I need out!"

"Out of where or _what_?" Eldoth quipped, likely eyeing her garment up and down, but no one paid him any heed.

The woman ran to Ajantis, of course, for not only was he at the head of the party, but—to be honest—he most likely embodied everything one could possibly hope for in a standard-issue damsel-in-distress respondent. "Miss? What are you doing out here?" he wondered aloud.

"I-I- Oh, _Umberlee and Poseidon_, but I'm sorry!"

Before Shar-Teel could summon up an insult, or Coran could feel left-out; before Viconia could even finish muttering: "Trap," the 'damsel' grasped their paladin by the face and kissed him on the mouth.

For a moment, Viconia almost wondered if Ajantis had fainted away on the spot. Such melodrama would have been in-character for him, and the paladin had collapsed immediately and with_ quite_ a thud. Viconia stared at the body for a moment—because the squire was outright dead, not fainted—and then looked up at the tear-streaked 'damsel' who had performed this sudden feat. Shar-Teel snorted a confused laugh. Eldoth raised a brow and made to comment. The 'damsel' backed up as if to flee.

Viconia didn't waste a breath to accuse, explain, or even snarl; she bolted forward and grabbed for whatever she could reach. Her nails scratched skin, snagged a wisp of silk, grazed ribs as the girl twirled, and then finally clawed up a fist-full of hair.

Like a starved beast, armed with frantic energy, Viconia pulled. The girl lost her footing and squealed. Viconia shouldered into her, and brought her her to the ground with an audible slam. Again the girl screamed, and this time she attempted to wriggle and roll away like a slippery little fish; but Viconia kept a vice grip on that hair, crawled upon her, yanked her head back, and struck her across the face hard enough to loosen teeth. Blessed Silence! The girl gaped at her, horror-struck.

"I know not the power of you water fae," the drow spat, smiling and enraged, "but if you cannot undo what you just did... Ohh, today is going to be a very long, very terrible day for you...!"

"Viconia!" Coran shouted, hurrying up to her.

"The fuck!?" Shar-Teel demanded. "What just-?"

"He is dead!" Viconia shouted, laughing. "And she did it with a kiss!"

Coran had reached Viconia, knelt, and grabbed her shoulder as if in counsel. "A sea nymph such as her has no cause to this!" He whispered urgently.

"I'm sorry!" The girl wailed, her face again wet with tears.

"You are going to be so much more than 'sorry'!"

"He made me do it! The Red Oni! I thought it was fun but then it wasn't! He made me-"

"I will kill your master one way or another, and then tear every organ out of your body through your mouth! I care not for your pathetic backstory! Either you are useful unto us now, or you are _not_!"

"I can do it! I can, if you'll please help me!"

Viconia hit her again because she despised nothing more than _helplessness_ in that moment. This time the fairy crumpled and stayed down in shaking silence. Coran squeezed her shoulder tighter. "Viconia."

But they were interrupted. "Release the water-child," intoned a booming, crisp voice. They heard a loud thud. And then another. In the wake of such thunderous steps, Viconia felt contemptuous irony and dread settle upon her like a mantle. She released the nymph's hair and looked slowly up to where an ogre-magi with red skin stood at the edge of the clearing, decked in foreign arms and armor, his eyes near as sharp as his proud, brown horns. She hadn't supposed ogre-kin could look so smooth-skinned or nobly postured; the only thing to dislike was a lower jaw overflowing with tusks like shards of obsidian.

"Well." Viconia sat back on her heels and squinted at the foe. "I, for one, miss Kivan."

...

* * *

The herring gull was following them. It was big, and perhaps it ought to have been a black-backed herring gull, but its colors were inverted. It glided from rock to rock and stayed only on the left-hand side; the side typically associated with bad luck. Every couple minutes, lest he forget it was there, it bleated out a high-pitched call of alarm.

So far from the shore, and with snow thickening on the ground, the sight of a lone gull following them for _hours_ ought to have been odd enough for someone to remark on.

Boo ought to have asked Minsc why a webbed-footed sea fowl was so far east, and induced a long conversation on the topic. Minsc or Aegis ought to have said something. What with that thrice-damned shriek of its, even the wizards ought to have noticed and complained of its presence. But no. No, the only person who could see or hear it was Kivan; and he doggedly pretended it did not exist.

The gull flew out in advance of him, found its footing on an icy rock, and squealed again. He remained fixed in his course, and steered his horse past it.

A few moment passed in blessed silence. Then he heard wing-beats closing fast behind him, and turned just in time for the gull to strike him hard in the shoulder. He flinched and it pecked and batted its wings against him for a moment, before at last it took off and headed west.

"Did jumping-tree-friend do something to upset the birds?" Minsc wondered, and it was some small consolation that at least the episode was over. Kivan glared after the gull, shook his head, and turned about to face the trail. Something was dangling directly in front of him, and he jerked on the horse's reigns so as not to run smack into it. The horse stopped.

There hung a spider, an orb weaver, right in front of his face; too cold to move, and dangling from a half-finished web.

His hand tightened on the reins.

"Parda once told us an old superstition about gulls," piped up an innocent Aegis behind him. "It was something like: if a gull touches you, it's a sign a friend is in trouble. Or was it a sign of bad luck in love? I forget."

"If a gull touches you," Edwin muttered, "It is after your lunch."

Imoen giggled. "Those things were _everywhere _back home. The library had a permanent 'anti-bird-dropping' enchantment, but me and Ae were up on the roof of the tavern _all the time_ with iron wool to get the crap off! Hey, do you believe in Omens?"

"Of _course not_."

"I was asking Kivan, Mr. Grumpy-Puss, of course anyone from Thay is far too _practical _and _rational_ and _anti-witchery_ to believe in omens. Kivan?"

Kivan lifted a hand up under the orb weaver, kicked his horse gently back into a walk, and sat there for a moment with the spider easing out of its stupor upon the warm surface of his palm. Then he fisted the hand, and crushed the spider, and wiped it off on the saddle horn. "No," he answered.

...

* * *

"I can do it! I can!" the Neriad had shrieked, thought this could have been a last-ditch bluff to stop Viccy from killing her. Nature magi weren't of a single stripe: True, some druids could step into the crossroads and call back the newly dead (and usually with healing close-at-hand to keep a fool from bleeding out twice, because the magic didn't cover that). But others just summoned typhoons, or talked to root vegetables, or—case in point—made themselves preternaturally attractive.

Either way, Viconia was right about one thing: No pulse. The boy was dead as crow droppings.

Shar-Teel stood and rested her fingers upon her weapon hilts. Something about this _itched_– and when she caught sight of ochre skin moving through the spread of trees on her right, she knew exactly why.

"Lambchop," she whispered over her shoulder, and jerked her chin to direct his attention. "Got a question for you. Any of your little darts prepared for something that size?"

"Nn. Two," the bard answered her sourly. "Leftovers from yesterday."

"Well if you miss... why don't you find some nice, _safe_ place off to the side to coat a few more, eh?"

"You've _read_ my mind, Snookums. However do you do it?"

Shar-Teel gave a shrug just to roll her shoulders, and then eased her longsword out to the ready. She slipped off to the side through the pines. This bandit was big and red, and she was only brown, gray, and green.

...

* * *

The speed with which Coran had knocked arrows and loosed them upon the ogre-magi certainly underscored how utterly _useless _the elf was when faced with attractive females. At least where drow priestesses and murderous nymphs had failed to martial his aggression (or even basic suspicion!), the sights and sounds of an enemy ogre summoned his archery instincts back to the forefront.

But this 'Oni' was no simple ogre! He jerked its head back as the first of Coran's arrows flew past his head, took one on a breastplate which splintered it, and side-stepped another altogether. One of Eldoth's crossbow bolts even showed up for the occasion, but it missed skin and deflected harmlessly away. Coran might have kept his barrage up all day simply to distract the foe, but the ogre one-upped them in showmanship and _grabbed _the next arrow, midair, and but a scant inch away from his face.

Whereupon Coran stopped shooting. For what reason? To underscore the _dramatic value_ of the moment? Might they get their bard to strum a few menacing chords for emphasis!? The Oni wrinkled heavy brows at them and inclined his head slightly. Coran executed a flourished little half-brow, as if in congratulations!

Gah, she was surrounded by fools and spineless fairies! This much was clear: The ogre seemed both smart and patient enough to reason with them—a rare opportunity!—but their party was in no position to compromise on anything: They needed their armaments, their cash, and the body of their traveling companion; and this well-armored brute hardly looked poised to _fear_ them. Unless he only wanted the nymph? But then there was nothing to hold him to his word once he had her.

"I will repeat myself _once_ and once only," the ogre rumbled. "Release. My. Wife."

Coran straightened, and then leaned near Viconia under the pretense of discussing this revealing and reasonable request with her. Instead he said: "It is clear to me now why this sweet Neriad is in need of rescuing. We should help her."

Viconia slowly took her feet, now laden with the protections of her goddess. She looked at Coran. Then she looked down at the trembling sea nymph. Then she looked back up at Coran. "Are you simply that stupid?" she asked flatly.

"Is it you or I who grew up in the forests of Tethyr?" he asked with a firm touch upon her shoulder. "I know a thing or two about the motivations of fairy folk. Enough to be deeply serious when I say that you should trust me on this one."

"I don't," Viconia hissed. "But we need him dead either way, and you _aren't shooting_."

"You and I are buying time, of course."

"For _what_?!"

"Her." It was then that Shar-Teel appeared behind the Oni and up a slope to the left. She had her longsword drawn and her eyes were narrowed, and she set down the slope at a run. Coran knocked an arrow lightning fast as the fightress made to leap.

The Oni surprised them all by simply _vanishing_.

...

* * *

Shar-Teel loosed a hard curse when her longsword hit the dirt unimpeded and Coran's arrow struck a tree just behind her. The ogre hadn't turned invisible, then. Teleported? She looked quickly about, and then tensed when she heard chanting nearby. "Was a fucking S_hadow dDor_!" she shouted, but then recalled they hadn't any bloody wizards with them and so her meaning was lost on everyone but _maybe_ Eldoth. "He's invisi-!"

Viconia ducked—smart—just as a branch of red lightning exploded in a thin streak across the clearing. It hit Coran in the arm because he'd been a mite slow on the uptake, and boiled the snow just behind him. Had the Oni lined himself up for a shot at both of them? He had to be _just_ beside her, damn it! For a moment Shar-Teel contemplated swinging her blade wildly about to feel for him, and then thought how godsbedamned stupid that would be when the brute was armed and armored and would obviously see her coming. She listened, trying to place that chanting.

Viconia scrambled to her feet but couldn't help out with the ogre just yet; she had to mend their archer. Eldoth might have been able to do something about the invisibility but he was too far away—coward, but rightly so—and therefore figuring this out was up to _her alone_! What if? Shar-Teel tensed and then looked up. She could see tree branches bent double under the weight of _something_, and a grin crossed her face. She picked a good place for a foot to be, based on the weight, and jammed her sword upward.

A startled curse and an interrupted spell told her she'd at least nicked her mark, but then she had to roll out of the way because the branches had whipped upward and that meant the Oni was coming back down to play. BAM. He left prints in the snow. She lunged, and felt the vibrations of wood and metal armor sliding under her steel. He stiff-armed her and the force threw her backwards; she slid but kept her footing, and wiped her face.

"Little lying bitch of a nymph is yours, eh? She was bruised on the cheek," Shar-Teel taunted. "Some _husband_. You hit her like you hit me?"

She heard a draw of steel and knew the invisible bastard had finally pulled out his own sword, which would give Viconia and Coran time to rejoin the battle.

"'Lying bitch?'" he asked. "You have just revoked your right to speak of her."

Shar-Teel eased a hand up against the unsharpened neck at the back of her longsword to brace it. This was going to take some brute force, and her dagger didn't have the reach necessary to do real damage. "Oh I'm sorry:" she taunted, "'Manipulative cunt.' Better? You give her fair cut of your haul when you rob people, right?"

The Oni sprinted at her, and she could see every step. She timed his pacing, and knew enough of Kura-Turians to predict his diagonal slash. She _fucking blocked that thing_, with it _fucking invisible _and if anyone had been watching they better comment on how she deserved a _bloody medal for it_.

But the force! The force of that godsbedamned katana came down so hard on her joints and on her back that it nearly bent her double as she rebounded from it and backed away.

Fuck_. _For once, a man really was stronger than her, and she didn't have Aegis or Branwen there as backup. His footprints and the sound let her knew he'd come at her again, and she didn't have any more time to _think, _because this was going to take every one of her senses to keep him from cutting her in half. She had a breastplate which might stop the brunt of it, but if he aimed for a shoulder or leg she was _toast_.

...

* * *

"I expected more force," Coran ground out through the pain. "That was the _tiniest_ lightning bolt I've ever seen." Viconia finished her prayer, and darkness shimmered in a sleeve up his arm, repealing the char and restoring the original flesh and bone. His nerves worked again, more importantly, and he immediately grabbed up and arrow and started shooting. Viconia twisted about to see Shar-Teel was giving ground fast against an invisible assailant.

"Stay near your precious 'neriad,'" Viconia instructed the archer, and quickly wove a _Protection _upon him. "If traveling with idiot wizards has taught us anything it is that lightning is unpredictable. He pulled the shot so as not to risk hitting her."

Coran glanced to her in surprise. "I think he's wearing enchanted armor, or my fare would have gotten through by now, and I can't easily hit his head like this."

"Invisibility doesn't last forever," Viconia hissed. "Bait his best out, and wait for an opportunity!"

"I'm a little more proactive than that!" he hollered after her, but Viconia was already sprinting towards the combat with flail in hand. She shouted back a,

"Be creative!"

and Coran glanced down at the cowering Nymph and reasoned this was a good time to make friends and reassure her that Viconia would not be tearing all her organs out through her mouth once the battle was won, no matter what the drowess had done or said.

...

* * *

The Oni was faster than most people would have expected of giant-kin, whose motions tended to slow down the larger they grew. Based on the speed at which Shar-Teel was being hammered into the earth and flung about, the Oni was just as spry on his feet as any elf or human. Maybe more so. And that meant Eldoth really _did_ need to hit him.

But then he had to wait. Because Eldoth wasn't going to creep up close and be 'heroic' in tossing out a _Glitterdust_, only to have the brute round on him and cut him in half. The range on that sort of magic was nearly point blank, and he didn't have the armor or weaponry to block off a riposte. A thicker sword would have been handy; but he carried a rapier, and Shar-Teel would be kidding herself if she claimed any ability or willingness to protect him. She couldn't even stop the Oni from flinging another two lightning bolts in Coran's direction.

Yes, but it would also be idiotic to keep shooting valuable poisoned bolts at the invisible fiend's backside; they weren't getting any more piercing or any more magical, and if he missed and hit _Shar-Teel_—always possible when firing into a melee—then the whole party might as well all fold their cards and package themselves into sandwiches, because a magically-apt ogre was going to track them down one by one and kill them.

'Coat some more,' she'd said, and so he would. His art was _timing_; she just needed to hold out for perhaps thirty seconds longer.

...

* * *

That Shar-Teel was still upright honestly impressed Viconia, who had thus far operated under the presumption that their fightress—however straightforward, forceful, and beautiful—lacked horribly when fighting defensively.

But mothing could be farther from the truth, it seemed: Shar-Teel was not just a brawler but a _swordswoman_ through-and-through, and her tactics were chosen for the situation. When she had a full party present, she _chose_ to be their spearhead. Now she was something else entirely. The way she was handling her blade, sensing out her enemy, and absorbing the hits with the whole of her body spoke of her as a finely tuned instrument of war. She was waiting the invisibility out as cleverly as anyone might have hoped.

But she was breathing hard, and Viconia did not for a _second_ forget Ajantis' reminder that Shar-Teel lacked for stamina. She needed a cleric's touch, and that might give her the boost she needed to handle this to its conclusion! If they could keep the Oni distracted, eventually Coran would be able to line up a kill shot.

But Shar-Teel was on the _other_ side of the Oni, which meant some rearrangement of units needed to be done. As Viconia approached she saw that the invisible ogre's footsteps changed in momentum.

"Viccy!" Shar-Teel shouted a warning.

"Shar," Viconia muttered and closed her eyes. She heard each footfalls as they came for her. The sword disturbed the air—_whistled_—and Viconia leaned back. The tip sang across the space in front of her, sheering off bits of hair. Sometimes it was fortunate, this 'being small;' it certainly made her harder to hit. "_Darkness._"

Nymphs were not the only 'fae' who had a trick or two up their sleeves! As magical blackness enclosed the space around her, Viconia knew she'd bought a moment on equal footing. Perhaps _advantageous footing_; most surfacers did not need to practice at blindness just to survive the mechanizations of their kinfolk! She leaped forward under the next swing of the his curved sword, and threw the head of her flail down for his feet. She caught him—briefly entangled him!—and heaved her shoulder and the the haft of the flail.

She was _small_, but leverage was with her that day. By the sounds and motion behind her, the magical flail had proved enough to topple him, which would buy them another moment's time! She swung the flail around to strike blindly at him, and she _hit_, but she felt no give in his armor.

Viconia exited the globe of darkness alongside a startled Shar-Teel, and grabbed the fightress's arm. _"Shar, bless my sister with the Endurance of the Delver."_

"Mn," Shar-Teel hummed, cracking her neck and dropping back into a defensive stance. "Okay, then, this is going to be _nice_. Should I go in after him?"

"No, you haven't my ears," Viconia replied. "It's difficult merely to tell which direction is _up_. But now we do this in tandem, and you've _my_ spells behind you-" she stopped talking as both of them heard chanting.

Shar-Teel lunged left, and Viconia scrambled after her, and then a lightning bolt as thick around as a man's thigh blew through the air they'd just been occupying. It lit up Viconia's armor to a tremendous temperature that burned her, but thankfully did no worse. She propped herself up and then heard a horrible... _whining_ sound, and smelled wood burning. Spooked, she looked slowly upwards to see the trees overhead were toppling.

Crawl. _Crawl!_

The earth trembled, wet, freezing; Flaming resin and bark and pine needles exploded through the air, and branches were had smothered her onto the mud. She crawled doggedly forward, hissing words of healing to herself. _Forests. I am not used to fighting in such terrain!_

...

* * *

Shar-Teel stood upward with an irritable scream, heaving the broken log off of her person. Her leg had seen better days, bloody and stuck through with wood splinters, but it would have to hold long enough for Viconia to get back to her. Their Oni, at least, was _visible_ again, but that was only small consolation when he brute was already basically on _top_ of her. He feinted at her left side, and she was cognizant enough to fend it off lightly and then take the main blow upon her sword. _Gods_, but he was still stronger than her. She didn't feel shortness of breath, or like her knees and elbows were going to pop off, at least. CLANG, the sword came down again, and he was advancing on her and she needed to retreat, and _blast that leg_.

Where the _fuck_ was Coran!? He ought to have been taking shots at this damn thing's head! A quick look around told Shar-Teel that flaming trees were now putting up _quite_ a smoke, and that meant the elf would have to get a better vantage point if he expected to hit anything. _Useless male!_

"Viconia!" she shouted the second the Oni gave her a second's breathing room. "Viconia!?"

"Here," the drow wheezed as she got to her feet. The trees had taken her flail, apparently. The trees had fallen _fucking conveniently _for an ogre who'd been taking pot shots out of an orb of darkness! Who'd spit in Besheba's grits that morning, that they should be facing such fucking awful luck!?

Unless? Fae sometimes had spells for distributing luck, and Oni were something like trickster demons.

Shar-Teel rolled over one of the trees; her armor and leathers could take the heat for just a second. She landed between Viconia and the Oni. "Try to dispel anything on him," she ordered.

...

* * *

_"Now_? He's already visible!" Viconia hissed, but the Oni had heard them and he gave away the soundness of Shar-Teel's reasoning with a startled reaction. Then he lunged at them, and Viconia threw all her speed of utterance into prayer.

_"Shar, you know the deceptions and secrets of all; take away the layers from this beast, strip him bare,_ _forsake him..__.!"_

She aimed the spell in advance of herself lest it strip her own protections, and the Oni—who tried to flee it—was caught straight in its clutches. Though no obvious defenses faltered, his angry cursing was proof some damage had been done.

As if to highlight the small victory, one of Coran's arrows finally made it through the smog, and hit the ogre hard enough to make him stumble forward. Shar-Teel made to capitalize on the moment, stepping back onto the burning log to lunge forward. Viconia got an eye-full of the fightress's damaged leg, just before the Oni suddenly pulled up his sheathe and _attacked_ the fightress with it, swiping at her leg with the improvised tool.

Shar-Teel tripped, and Viconia watched as the the Oni's sword came down and severed the fightress's right arm at the bicep. Luck, after all, could be manufactured in a great multitude of different ways.

...

* * *

Coran loosed another arrow into the gloom, at the darkness that moved beyond, whilst still running in an attempt to catch better sight of his quarry. He'd heard Shar-Teel demand a dispel, but there was a gigantic globe of darkness and a great deal of burning pine resin in the way; and as anyone could tell you, neither of those things made for very good visibility!

There, maybe that tree! It took him a few seconds to scale the branches, and in so doing he heard Viconia scream so violently that he could be sure something quite terrible had happened in the meanwhile. He hooked himself into the branches, and squinted past the smoke. Dammit but the ogre was helmeted and facing away from him, and–

_Corellon protect us._

Shar-Teel was down an arm.

... Shar-Teel was _still fighting_...! He fired an arrow at her assailant, and cursed at how the smoke was making the colors of things bend and weave. But, yes, despite now sporting a profusely bleeding stump on one side, Shar-Teel had managed to sit herself up upon the log she'd been maimed on, and with her left hand she had raised the longsword high and taken a hit upon it _just_ as fiercely as before. The ogre was quite startled by this, as any sane and rational person would have been, and he hesitated a moment before attacking her again.

Coran drew and loosed, drew and loosed. His arrows hit that helmet, and followed it, and hit it again, and again, and again. If there was ever a definition laid out for why 'suppressive fire' was needed in a battle, _this was it._

...

* * *

Viconia had successfully managed to grab the severed arm before it fell over the opposite side of the tree, which probably would have solicited morbid commentary from Xzar as to her priorities.

She had two choices: heal the spurting stump closed, restore Shar-Teel's vitality enough to _maybe_ finish the fight one-handed but _also_ become permanently maimed; or, alternatively, Viconia could try to reattach the arm _mid-melee_.

Was that even possible? Trying to decide the answer was so difficult that it actually took up a few seconds, before she realized that hesitation was the _most_ inefficient expenditure of her time. Coran's arrows would buy her nothing this way!

She grabbed hold of Shar-Teel and whispered the smallest healing spell she had, something to seal the veins with the barest hint of tissue while she worked. She stuffed herself up under Shar-Teel's shoulder to keep the Fightress propped up whilst trying and get all the sliced muscles to align. And Shar-Teel, bless Shar-Teel, kept parrying.

But the ogre slashed at Viconia's legs just as soon as he realized what her intent must be, and Shar-Teel didn't have the strength or leverage to properly stop him. Viconia had to stop working to hop over the blade and even landed briefly on it; the ogre retracted it and tried again. Viconia climbed onto the log behind Shar-Teel (which was partially on fire, if, thankfully, not exactly where they were sitting) to try and reattach the limb from there. The ogre advanced on them, and Shar-Teel had to get into a better position if she was to keep fighting.

"This is making me repeatedly lose my focus!" Viconia hissed as the fightress straightened up and got her feet back on the ground.

Shar-Teel laughed manically and then bellowed a cheerful: "I'm sorry–" block "–your life is so hard!"

"I can only make so many attempts before the Nightsinger can no longer hear me!"

Shar-Teel steeled herself, holding her ground. The ogre forced her sword high, and kicked at her, and Shar-Teel and Viconia _both_ managed to dodge to the left despite the states they were in, but _dammit_ the healing was disrupted again. These were Viconia's _biggest prayers_, and if she wasted _one more_, Shar-Teel was going to finish the rest of this adventure (however short it might be) with a stub!

But fortune struck them. The Oni grew more and more aggravated with Coran, whom he now knew was nowhere near his nymph and whom therefore was fair game for fresh lightning assaults. He also knew Shar-Teel could not martial an attack, and that Viconia had been disarmed; so he backed off, turned about, and raised a hand high over his head to block off stray arrows. They heard him begin to chant.

"Coran!" Shar-Teel shouted as Viconia tried _one last time_ to get that arm attached. "Incoming!"

...

* * *

Coran suspected, based entirely on their past history with this Oni, of course, that _his_ tree was about to join the day's casualties. He took another few shots on the off-chance he might be able to disrupt the brute's concentration, but when the Oni so much as _twitched_ forward to lift a hand at him, that was Coran's sign to move. He leaped hard off the tree trunk, and a hot explosion proved him right. His poor tree burst asunder in a flaming, sticky, pine-needle-infested burst of wooden shrapnel. It fell on him as he rolled off its sister pine, and it was unpleasant, but he was largely unharmed by the time he reached the ground.

Hmm? Yes. Everything intact. The Oni was walking towards him slowly, angrily, menacingly; but Coran, at least, had clear shots. He started aiming for the elbow joint of the raised arm, and earned a flinch and a botched casting. The Oni grimaced and started again, and this time it was not foiled. It pointed at him, but this time no lightning bolts were forthcoming. Instead, the Oni produced a barrage of around twenty small red projectiles, all of which burst out like firecrackers and then homed in on their target.

Coran froze in place like a startled jackrabbit, and then quickly grabbed at his belt pouch where he was carrying healing potions.

_I hate spells that can't be dodged. They're just... not fair._

...

* * *

"Magic missiles!" Shar-Teel spat as the Oni released one barrage and then another; then she shrieked and slammed her fist into her knee to stave off the pain as Viconia's prayers finally bore fruit. The arm muscles reattached and all the nerves went alight for a moment. Then it was over, and Shar-Teel lifted up the hand worriedly to examine it and clench the fingers. The limb was sluggish and shaky. It wasn't going to hold a weapon, but she might be able to brace her longsword on the forearm. Either way, she was no longer bleeding out.

"I can try to fix the after-effects, but it will take more intricate healing," Viconia told her.

"Get to Coran," Shar-Teel ordered.

"You need me here, or you're already dead," she disagreed, and then knelt down to heal Shar-Teel's preexisting thigh-wound.

"_He_ might already be dead!" the swordswoman shouted at her.

"I can't do _anything_ to help people who are dead!" Viconia argued. "If I _could_, we would have flung the nymph at this bastard and been on our way!"

_Ajantis_.

Shar-Teel clenched both fists tightly, and waited for Viconia to put everything back in working order.

The Oni turned back on them, and though his helmet, horns, and right arm had been turned into a veritable pincushion of arrows, he seemed to have disrupted the source of them. If alive, Coran was out of commission.

"You need a weapon," Shar-Teel told Viconia, because she suspected the latter had just burnt through far too many spells on her behalf. "And it needs to be magic or it's not going to touch him."

"I think I can get the flail," Viconia agreed, rounding a fallen tree. "Do_ not_ get hit again."

Shar-Teel narrowed her eyes because she could see the Oni was muttering and twiddling his fingers. _Casting_. "Fuck," she snapped, and then flew forward and reached behind herself with the bad arm to grab the hilt of her dagger. The Oni didn't stop casting, and he raised his sword to match her own. Granted. She twirled into him, and with that stupid sluggish arm she punched her dagger up high into his armpit. _That_ ought to have botched the spell's gestural component!

The Oni _roared_. He dropped his sword and grabbed her with both hands, and he _threw_ her away from himself. Shar-Teel was more startled than she was injured, and that was saying something given that she'd once more landed on burning and pointy timbers. Gods! Did she have a healing potion on herself? She did, one, and it might restore some functionality to her injured arm and help her shake off these burns and bruises. The Oni recovered his sword and grabbed her dagger out from where she'd stuffed it. The armpit was always the best gap in heavy armor, but he wasn't wheezing, which meant she'd missed the lung.

_Just isn't my day. _She downed the potion, and glanced to where Viconia was invisible beyond the bulk of a tree and the screens of smoke, still likely rooting about for her damned flail. She'd said not to get _hit, _and that was a warning more than an instruction.

Shar-Teel cracked the potion and dropped the shattered glass. Her own 'helplessness' was starting to piss her off. Once more: with _emphasis. _She placed her bad hand back against the neck of her longsword, and then waded forward to win this fight.

...

* * *

Viconia managed to find the haft of the flail, though it took another supplication unto Shar for guidance to see the thing amidst all the mess. The flames were starting to rise higher, and the bright light was wrecking havoc on her already beleaguered eyes. To say nothing of the smoke! She tugged, and yanked, and then snarled that such a mundane thing as a twisted and trapped chain could be given her this much trouble at such an important moment!

By the sounds of combat, Shar-Teel was finally managing to hold steady against the Oni with his Luck and Invisibility both gone and her Endurance spell still high. Fortunate, because Viconia didn't have much healing left to give.

With a pop, the flail heads came free, and Viconia would have surely landed on her ass had she been anything other than an elf. She stood up and tried to get a bearing on the Oni, muttering the words for a spell that would enchant her weapon with the goddess's favor.

The Oni backed up a few steps.

"Viconia!" she heard Coran wheeze, and she looked quickly towards the sound. Damn it all! She might only have had minor healing spells left, but if the Oni was backing up to deal with him-!" She turned and bolted in the direction of his voice.

...

* * *

"Viccy!" Shar-Teel sputtered as she realized what the Oni had just done. What was that?! He'd done it, she was sure: thrown Coran's voice where Coran's voice hadn't been, using some kind of minor spell! "It's a trap!" she tried to shout, pursuing as the Oni charged to intercept their cleric.

Shit! He could run faster because he had bigger legs, and betimes Viconia had changed directions it was already too late! The Oni galloped straight over one of the burning logs without giving it the time of day (too tall for it to even burn his balls!) and then he was on the other side, and Shar-Teel was going to have to blindly roll through fire again.

She did so. _GAH_. Some of the resin stuck to her, and she cursed and slapped to put it out. Viconia was there on the opposite side of the Oni, her flail humming with energy as she swung and snapped at his strikes. He had his sheathe in one hand and his sword at the other, and he was essentially charging her down. She kept backing up, graceful little thing that she was, but _he_ was fast, and that was the unfair part.

Shar-Teel charged after them.

The Oni dropped his sheathe and grabbed Viconia's flail by the head. Even as that must have hurt, and she _did_ see blood, it was certainly effective. He pulled Viconia clear off her feet, and then swatted her away with such force that the elf really did go flying.

Shar-Teel rammed into his backside, sword leading, and the tip sank in through the splints. And stuck there. The ogre shouted and spun about to face her, and it was all Shar-Teel could do to try and keep behind him that she might not lose her only remaining weapon in the process.

...

* * *

When Viconia landed, it was of course with her feet facing downward. She was very graceful, after all. But she knew the moment her toes first hit the ground that something was wrong, and seconds later she registered that she had just heard something, well, _crisp_. Something uncannily like... yes, that exactly:

Her shin bone was not inside the skin anymore, was it? She reached down to feel over her leg and was surprised but not exactly relieved to feel a lack of blood. The bone had shattered on the inside without breaching the surface, which wasn't any better, really. She'd spent her last meaningful healing spells on Shar-Teel, and what little she had left... well, even she pooled them together to heal her leg, doing so would necessitate she force the bone back into alignment first. If she wanted to do the job right, she'd have to cut the injury open herself, and even _then_ she wasn't sure she had enough magic for such intricate surgery.

And there wasn't enough time for that.

She looked up to see Shar-Teel had temporarily gotten stuck to the Oni, but that one well-placed kick managed to free her sword and give her some distance from him. The Oni whirled on her, raised a hand, and managed to spit out a fast spell in the time it took Shar-Teel to realize what was happening.

Viconia tensed as a round of magic missiles bombarded the fightress, singeing her armor and face as they drove her backwards a handful of steps. She managed to keep her footing, but spat red to the side. The Oni grinned, gripped his sword with both hands, and charged at her.

This was not good. Shar-Teel could not hold out forever, and now had no help.

Coran was still unaccounted for, and may have been dead.

CLANG, the blade came down upon Shar-Teel, and again she was forced to her knees to absorb the blow. She tried to stab at his underarm as he drew up the weapon again, but he was too fast and brought his sword down again for a second hit. CLANG. He'd not previously been using both hands...

Eldoth was definitely unaccounted for, and had probably left them to die.

And now Viconia was stuck _watching. _She looked about, searching for anything that might help her to her feet. If she had to hobble back there on a crutch to deliver the last vestiges of her magic, then dammit she would do it! She would not lie down and _die_! She would not sit there and watch Shar-Teel die! Not like she'd watched- watched-!

The ogre had thrown her back alongside Ajantis' corpse, where everything had started, back before anything had been on fire. The squire was still there, crumpled in the dirt, lifeless.

CLANG. CLANG. A muttered feminine oath. CLANG.

What Viconia had said to Shar-Teel had been the truth: there was nothing she could do for someone dead, and certainly not on such short notice. But... but she could do something _with_ the dead. That... that was within her repertoire.

Viconia twisted back to where Shar-Teel was being driven back, and back, and back. That endurance spell was not going to last much longer, and Shar-Teel likely only had until that long to live. No one was going to save the two of them; they would live or die by their own means.

No. With the help of _one_. She looked back to Ajantis. Because... she knew, if he had been asked, 'would you die to rush in and save us?' he would have told her 'yes' in a heartbeat.

Her fingers trembled. She leaned over the body, touching the armor, touching his hair. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm _sorry_." She spread her arms over his broad back, and bent her head, and prayed.

...

* * *

Every joint in her bad arm felt rattled to the core. Her good side was still holding up, but she knew Viconia's blessing didn't have much juice left in it. And the ogre was just _smashing_ her. She'd never felt so weak, not since she'd been a fucking _child_. He was bigger than her; fine, she'd fought men bigger than her. He was faster than her; fine, she'd fought men faster than her. He was hardier than her? Okay, that was normal.

But he was fucking bigger than her, faster than her, hardier than her, and _smarter than her_, and that was the culminating insult! The way he was looking at her was fucking smug, because he'd won and he _knew_ it, and he was some giant ass fucking monster who could take out whole adventuring parties on his own and he liked it. (Not on his own. The Nymph. The damn Nymph. That was where this credit was due!)

Shar-Teel screamed out her frustration and forced a swipe at his knee. She felt and heard the satisfying crack of her sword getting under the armor and slicing into bone, and his shin plating sagged. The Oni roared out his anger and hammered her, and hammered her, and hammered her.

He dropped her on her ass. It _wasn't over_.

It wasn't over while she still drew breath.

IT WASN'T OVER TILL HE DIED.

He hit her sword from the top again and again and again, and when he was sure she was just gritting her teeth and weather it all he suddenly knocked at her guard from the side. He opened her _wide_ for a hit.

A third sword got in the way.

A third sword, and a tremendously large quantity of plate mail.

Shar-Teel blinked past smoke, and then looked slowly upward. Her face slackened when she saw the dead black eyes and bleached skin of a—a what? a zombie?—and she realized in that moment just how desperate they'd all been. This was... or had _once been_... Ajantis.

The Oni backed up a pace in surprise and then whirled on the zombie and attempted to slice it in half. Much to both Shar-Teel and the Oni's surprise, the zombie blocked the oncoming sword fluidly.

"I have it defending you!" Viconia shouted, her voice raw from burnt timbers and repeated injuries. "Use it! Kill him! _KILL HIM!_"

Shar-Teel got to her feet, repulsed, numb. She took one last look at the zombie and its vacant and very nearly serene expression, and her fists tightened against her sword. _He is dead._

_This is because I couldn't do it alone._

Teeth clenched so tight she was shaking, she looked back up at the uncertain Oni and caught his glance back towards Viconia.

_No. No NO NO NO NO NO!_

Shar-Teel dived at him, and the zombie followed like a shadow. She brought up a slash which the ogre blocked, and then it quickly tried to loop past her aggression and stab her. The zombie was there to hit the katana up wide. _Mocking her_. She slashed again and again, pounding up at that Kura-Turian sword the same way the ogre had pounded down at her. He thought he had the better leverage? Maybe, but she was closer to the ground. She slashed at his legs because she'd proven that armor wasn't as good. She stabbed at his boots, and at his knees.

The ogre kept trying to get past her defenses, and the zombie kept interceding. _Over and over and over again._

She screamed and slashed the giant fucker's katana out of her way and threw herself bodily at him. He was startled and tried to grab at her or push her away, but this got the zombie involved stabbing at his arms. She wrung the longsword's hilt to screw all her force into it, and she jabbed the point up under one of his arms. The Oni roared and bodily threw both of them—both her and _the zombie_—away.

"You think you can beat me?" the Oni laughed, but this time he was wheezing. She'd popped his lung, and this fight was over. She regained her feet only to see him pick up something spherical. Was that-? He threw it to the ground and gray smoke exploded all about them. "You are just _loot_, female! And inexpensive loot at that!"

Shar-Teel tried to see if he'd run, but then heard that he'd started casting again, and she recognized the words for another _Shadow Door._

_NO!_

A sudden gust of hard wind blew through the area, startling all of them. The Oni tried to figure out which of his enemies had caused this. Coran was dead or unconscious, Viconia was no mage-!

"Tch," a voice spoke from behind him. "Inexpensive loot? Don't talk that way to Snookums." The Oni spun about, and as he did so a crossbow boltt grazed his cheek and threw off his concentration. By then Shar-Teel had already closed the gap between them.

The Oni had precious little time to register that his vision and arms were both moving sluggishly because he'd just been poisoned. Shar-Teel hit his sword wide, slashed him across the breastplate, hit his sword wide again, slashed at him, let the zombie take a return attack for her, and then jammed her weapon's tip straight upwards towards the throat.

Splash. Red. Done.

...

* * *

Coran was still alive; Eldoth had managed to find him amid all the burning debris and had fed him a healing potion, which had given the party one less casualty in full sum and perhaps earned the bard his keep. Coran was now some distance away, leaning against a tree and catching his breath, filthy and still bloody. The bard, however, looked incredibly presentable, with nary a bit of soot or ash anywhere about his person, and with his hair all still carefully in alignment.

Shar-Teel was standing over the body of the Oni, a kill which—despite the bard's last-minute intervention—was indisputably owed to her swordsmanship. She'd stabbed a good seventeen holes through it in various places, even though Viconia was sure the Oni had most likely died when she'd jammed the longsword up through his throat, his lower jaw, his soft palette, and _his brain_. Perhaps this was an adrenaline thing, or a dominance thing, or maybe she just _really _wanted to be sure.

Viconia felt giddy. Felt nothing. Felt dread. Felt patience. Felt stillness. "We have to go," she found her voice. "The fire might draw more trouble. We're injured, and need to make camp."

Shar-Teel lifted her head and slowly turned a dark stare out across the burning forest and towards where the drow still sat, crippled. Viconia didn't breathe. Shar-Teel didn't say anything, not yet. After a moment, the fightress turned her baleful stare onto Eldoth, who seemed to have been waiting for just this sort of scrutiny. He gave a wincing little shrug. "I was late," he admitted, as if caught stealing biscuits.

Shar-Teel stared at him. Stared through him. Then she glanced to Coran, and to where the Nymph was very much still in the area and appeared to be hiding behind a tree to stare in wonderment at them all. The one person Shar-Teel very pointedly did _not_ look at was 'Ajantis,' even as the undead creature shuffled quietly over to stand mid-field and wait there for signs of further danger. Eldoth glanced at it with some disdain. Viconia saw, and wanted to knife the bard right then and there.

Shar-Teel shoot her head. "You animated him," the swordswoman finally said. "You _fucking _animated him."

Viconia took in a deep breath. "I had no choice," she answered firmly. "You were about to die."

"And he was already dead," Eldoth pointed out.

"You stay out of this," Shar-Teel snarled, and then rounded on Viconia. "You've kill him twice over!" the fightress spat, her voice gaining heat. "You think I wouldn't have hauled his corpse back east with us? Huh?!" She stalked towards her, crossing the field just as much to take stock of her condition as to shout at her. "Are you-? You can't raise a person who's been animated!"

Viconia kept her voice level. "One can't raise anyone from the inside of an ogre's lower intestine, either." She raised her head to meet Shar-Teel's gaze. Both of them were filthy, streaked with blood, hurt. Shar-Teel surely understood. "Do you think I did it lightly?"

"You did it. You did it_ at all_." Shar-Teel spat to the side. "Fucking _waste_. You—both of us—we were supposed to be looking out for him. And he dies, and you fucking taint his corpse. A paladin's corpse!" Shar-Teel kicked dirt at her, and Viconia winced. "Some 'healer.' Some 'friend!' The blame's on you in this one!"

Viconia looked away because Shar-Teel was still kicking debris at her. She waited a moment, and then said: "He can walk himself to Beregost now."

Shar-Teel shook her head curtly. "Ain't him."

"Very well: the anima will walk his corpse to Beregost, where we will see if... if anything can be done."

"Look, girls," Eldoth broached, and Shar-Teel shot him a look that could melt steel. "Okay: Look, Viconia. Far be it from me to interrupt your semantic argument and perhaps accidentally create a moment of group peace and harmony, but you might want to have a look at your zombie."

Viconia turned a stare on Eldoth to rival Shar-Teel's, but then twisted about and saw that Coran had helped a limping Nymph pick her way over to 'Ajantis.' The zombie affected nothing at their approach, but the Nymph tottered directly up to him, and stood on her toes, and cradled her hands sensuously around his head.

She kissed him, and the rush of natural energy which exploded across the plain was so real that it doused flames, sent mist water into the air, cause a spring to appear and bubble forth water, and made flowers come bursting up into bloom through the snow. All around them, for a hundred yards, the ground grew so thick in grass and small saplings and dewbells and daisies that it struck all present viewers to silence. Even Eldoth.

The zombie tensed slightly, and then went strangely lax in place, and its eyes shut. A flush of color bloomed along its skin, and then _Ajantis_ took in a slow, deep breath.

Viconia and Shar-Teel stared. They glanced briefly at one another.

"I'm going to cut her in half," the fightress croaked.

The Nymph released the kiss and then peered worriedly up over the knight-squire's countenance. He opened his eyes and blinked rapidly, as if he had done nothing more exciting than woken up from a pleasant dream. The Nymph smiled and stroked his cheek. "You're alright..."

Ajantis stiffened and stumbled back in surprise, and it took Viconia to realize he was confused to find himself in such close proximity to a beautiful woman. His face turned red. "Miss, I don't-!" He paused and looked at himself, and at the flowers, and then twisted about at the realization that nothing at all was quite as he'd left it. An ogre corpse lay only a few dozen meters away, though already overgrown with mushrooms. "What... what just happened?"

"You came back from the dead, my good quire!" Coran popped up at his elbow to inform, looking as chipper and gentlemanly as if he wasn't blackened with soot and hadn't nearly died several times in the past fifteen minutes. Coming from him, it was somehow much more authentic than it could ever have been coming from Eldoth. "And I'm sorry to say this, but I think we need to impose a five-to-ten foot distance between yourself and this delightful Lady!" He kissed the nymph's cheek and then twirled her gently out of the way (with a boost off her feet, so as not to hurt her injured ankle), and placed her on his opposite side. "Just to be safe!"

Viconia gaped.

...

* * *

"I'm so sorry," the neriad giggled, putting a hand over her mouth and then wiping tears from her eyes. "I'm so sorry, and I never would have done it if he hadn't been forcing me! You don't... you don't know what it's been _like_. I thought it might be fun at first, something different, something- but..."

Ajantis gaped..

Then he looked to where Viconia and Shar-Teel were both staring vacantly with blood all over them and in a stunned sort of upset that could not adequately be described with words. They both were the very picture of 'mauled by a bear.' Or an ogre?

"I'm confused," the paladin admitted.

"You were kissed by a nymph," the party bard supplied, looking incredibly unruffled next to both girls. "Or a neriad, I can't tell the difference. Is one bluer than the other? Anyway that killed you, of course, as Nymph kisses are oft reputed to do. We found out this was a cunning way a troubled and unlikely married couple had been robbing travelers; her husband turned out to be a very friendly and understanding ogre. Oh, and since we were down a fighter, Viconia temporarily reanimated you as some sort of strangely-hasted zombie."

Ajantis straightened back in horror, and the bottom of his stomach felt as if it had fallen out. "A... a what?"

"A zombie. I think." Eldoth stifled a yawn. "Or something similar. They were just about to get in an argument about it when the nymph rendered it all moot in restoring you. So... yay?"

Ajantis looked down at Viconia, who had yet to rise. "You were helping me save Shar-Teel," the drow said almost automatically, as if her mind and mouth were strangely disconnected. "I imagined you were there, arguing with me, and you said that sacrificing yourself was the only way. Inevitably, I gave in, because you are very persuasive after all." He continued to stare at her for a moment. Then he took a slow breath and looked back to the 'nymph,' whom Coran was gently cosseting and putting back to sorts. She was watching him with big eyes, and he gave a slow, appreciative nod.

"Thank you, Miss."

She gave a bright smile and a delicate little wave. "My name is Shoal!"

"Thank you, Miss Shoal."

Then he turned back towards his girls, and walked up to where Viconia was sitting. He knelt, and reached under her, and scooped her wordlessly off the ground. Then he stood up and looked to Shar-Teel for direction.

Somewhere behind him, a nymph was gushing happily to Coran, "I can't wait to get off this dry land! I've missed the ocean, the swells, the brine, my sisters-!"

"We need to make camp," Shar-Teel growled emptily, her gaze vacant of its usual ire. "We're headed back about fifteen minutes in the way we came. Try not to _die _strolling through the woods this time." She turned away, and that was that.

...


	40. Clearly in Control of the Situation

In which Shar-Teel makes us all groan miserably, mid face-palm, while going: "Nnooo...!"

...

* * *

_**Clearly in Control of the Situation**_

...

* * *

Viconia's shattered leg hurt with every footstep, every _breeze_, but there was no sense thinking about it until something could be done. She looked quietly out at the trees as they traveled. The forests had always been strange to her, weaving and moving in the way rock did not, but she had never seen them as particularly hazardous. Not compared to the Underdark, at least. Clearly forest fires were a different matter entirely.

With her shin broken, she had _expected_ to be carried to camp that afternoon. She had not expected her mule to be warm, or for the vapor of his breath to form clouds overhead and tickle her hair. It began snowing as they walked, and Coran and Eldoth conferred about the sky in a manner that suggested nightfall might bring unsavory weather.

Shar-Teel had scouted a depression among the hills, in which a heavy 'fir' was growing. It looked like a pine to Viconia. But, as it turned out—and whether one called it a fir or a pine—such trees were good for more than crushing and burning a person; This one's boughs were long and drooping, and formed a natural tent and camouflage with space beneath to shelter all of them. Their fightress ushered them inside and then immediately started pitching her tent. Eldoth excused himself to collect firewood. Coran nursed a healing potion and started building a fireplace. He stacked extra stones around it, she saw.

Ajantis kicked aside a bit of lingering frost, and then knelt down and settled Viconia down upon a bed of needles. Needles, yes, but comparatively well-behaved whilst not on fire. He looked over her to assess her burns and minor injuries, and then eased her leg out straight with a tight grasp under the knee. She tried to take the limb under her own management that she might begin the arduous task of righting it, but he chased her hands away. She closed her eyes to control the pain, and leaned backwards on her palms.

"Ajantis..." No, this wasn't a good place to talk. Scarcely better than the walk had been.

"Let me see." He undid the clasp on his cloak, and brought it down to pillow under her leg. Then he unclasped the boot straps, and rolled up her trouser leg. Bruises showed easier on white skin, at least without infravision. She tilted her head back as he felt over the shin with both thumbs, and found how it was out of alignment.

"Shar-Teel needed my help," she spoke without willing it. "And I couldn't get back into the battle. But I was near your corpse, and I realized you might yet be able to 'heroically' save the day."

Perhaps he shook his head, but her eyes were still closed. He said, "I think I can mend your injuries, but, before trying, I must go and reconcile this day with my deity." He made to stand, and she glared at him.

"I did the _only_ thing I could do, and I did it as _swiftly_ as possible," she growled at him. "Be glad that you were already _dead_ at a time when I needed a hapless sacrif-"

Ajantis knelt again, and he pulled her into a hug, purposefully cutting off words that would have damned her. She shuddered angrily, fingers curling in the pine needles. He pet her hair, and pet her, and pet her, until even with Coran just six feet in one direction and Shar-Teel in the other, she had sagged into his armor and lost all bite. Perhaps no one was looking.

"Paladins do a lot of praying," this winsome boy chided gently. "They give thanks. They seek counsel. They do _not _miraculously come back from the dead, after a whole lot of questionable magical shenanigans, and then fail to address their guiding patron on the matter. Among other things, it would be terribly _rude."_

"Well," she muttered. "We can't have that."

He pulled back a few inches, and brushed hair back from her face. "I won't go far. But I need to be alone for a short while."

She nodded silently and waved him off.

...

* * *

Coran glanced back at Viconia when the smell of blood worsened. He found her to be biting down hard on an emptied glove, with her knife blade in her shin and quite an elaborate surgery afoot. "Oh, dear Tymora," he disapproved, and quickly rounded the tree. Red eyes promised death if he dared impede her in any way, so Coran knelt before Viconia and did the only thing he could do: he helped to hold the wound open.

This she allowed. And though he wished he could do more, the truth was that Viconia was bearing the pain with such focus that her hands weren't even shaking. She had complete control of each fingertip. He glanced up to her face with fresh admiration, because there were about four ways any given long bone could break, and 'in all directions at once' was definitely the worse. Bad even just to look at, and not great on the recovery side of things either; was the sort of break that didn't set well, stayed inflamed, healed funny, and left a limp. You ever saw a doe limping around on a break like that, you put them down just to be merciful...

This was fairly amazing, actually. And making him extraordinarily nervous, even knowing that she was a cleric. She'd made it clear she'd lack for more powerful healing until nightfall, so if something went wrong...

At _last_ she pressed deeply into the wound, spit the glove out, and began murmuring in her native language. Her first spell sealed the bone back together, the second re-knitted the muscle over top, and the third spell repaired bruising and sealed up the injury's surface entirely. She made a fourth entreaty after that, likely to compensate for blood lost. Coran caught a hand under the ankle and applied gentle pressure to the limb. No pain? No pain. He sat back, marveling at her and wiping his hands off.

"Thank you," a black panther growled.

"You looked like you wanted for a second set of hands," he observed, still amazed at her healing gift.

"Perhaps."

"Why, if I might be so bold to ask, didn't you wait for _him_?" Ajantis would have been a better fail-safe in an emergency, but Viconia gave a roll of the eyes to suggest she was badly annoyed. Coran crossed his arms sat back. "Oh I see. Too busy pasting over feelings of guilt with near substitutes like 'anger' and 'staunch independence,' ah?" She turned her death-vision back onto him. It made him chuckle—her fury was so hot, so fast—and he shrugged, "Far be it from me to stop you, lovely lady. You'll do as you will, and you'll like it better for being _your _way."

Death vision transformed into a irritated glower, and a mocking curl of the upper lip.

"I know that look," he winked, "That's the 'well if you're so smart, Coran, then you can sleep outside in the cold tonight' look." He stood and dusted his knees off. "Very well, I'm going, I'm going." He paused and glanced up at her. "I can see I've overstayed my welcome on this side of the tree." She scoffed; and he grinned and dutifully rounded said tree, returned to his fire, and set to cooking their dinner. "Though..." his mouth usually thought itself cleverer than he was, to the detriment of them both, "it does make me wonder why you bother with _me_ at all, when you and the paladin seem to share a certain... synergy?"

Viconia did not stab him, insult him, or hit him with a flail. Instead she answered him in a resigned tone: "The paladin is my martial and social counterpart, and for that utility I find myself unexpectedly... grateful. It certainly makes interactions with surfacers go more smoothly. However, in matters of sexuality, he has made his position clear: He is both chaste and absolutely, utterly, and completely infatuated with Shar-Teel."

To the side of the tree, someone dropped something quite heavy, and a series of feminine oaths indicated that 'someone' had overheard their conversation. Coran glanced towards 'someone,' and then back towards Viconia. This explained why she'd answered him. He inclined his head to ask a silent 'really?' and Viconia nodded. _Well _then. "If I... offered to sleep with her when we got back, would that help move things along?"

"No," Viconia sighed heavily. "The fool won't get jealous, or do anything to stop you. He'll just become very sad, and wander off downcast to go drink and pray. Probably at the same time, which I don't imagine will impress his deity. Very pathetic." She waved a hand dismissively, as if she hadn't just provided subtle instruction of their paladin's mannerisms to a woman who likely otherwise would misinterpret them. "Though come to think of it, I doubt he'll ever impress _he_r enough for this to go anywhere, and Shar-Teel honestly _should _relieve some stress after her incredible performance today. Perhaps it would be best to simply nip his feelings in the bud at the same time?" She paused, thought about this for a moment, and then squinted at him and asked a very considerate question for a drow woman. "Do you even _like_ Shar-Teel?"

Coran ought to have been more suspicious, but instead he answered her: "What? Why would anyone not like Shar-Teel?" then he recalled the fightress was only so many yards away and he didn't want to come off as 'teasing'. "I assumed she'd be offended by any boldfaced 'offer;' so instead I wait on standby and make thinly veiled advances to see if I end up making her mental shortlist while she's-"

A displaced log hit the tree branches and covered both of them in shed snow powder._ "SHUT! UP!"_

Coran cringed and jumped to his feet. "I am not teasing!" he shouted after angrily departing footsteps, before whirling on Viconia with large eyes. The dark elf was grinning. "You did that on purpose!"

"And I'm not warming your bedroll this evening," Viconia agreed as she languidly dusted snow off herself.

"Bedroll! You may have just cost me her entire friendship, and that is not an easy woman for a man to befriend! _Demon_ panther!" he cursed her, blew her a kiss, and then hurried out of the tree to find out what had happened to Shar-Teel and whether she could be appeased. It was, after all, very rude to leave a woman with the impression one did not find her beautiful; and Shar-Teel had already had a rather awful morning.

...

* * *

The Archaeological dig site was a veritable fort, which Xan would be the first to admit he had not expected. Then again, it had somehow weathered the test of bandits cavorting about the countryside looking for any and all easy loot. Crossbowmen manned barricades, which were reinforced by excavated dirt. Somewhere from within a man was shouting encouragement and orders.

"Put your backs into the shovels, men! If she ain't out betimes the week is over, we'll be losin' her ta one 'Chill' or another!"

"You there!" shouted one of the bowmen. "Stay were you are and state your business plainly! Come any closer and we'll loose on you!"

"My name is Jaheira," answered a woman who ended at the front of (almost) every task force she deigned to serve in. "Our party is here answering a summons for mercenary help."

Xan glanced at her, made to speak, hesitated, thought twice, and then gratefully sank back on the balls of his feet. Perhaps Aegis had named _him_ leader of the party, but Xan had no natural gift for barking orders, and he viewed public speaking with a certain amount of _dread_. If Jaheira wanted to lead, then she was welcome to it. He had no cause to challenge her unless they stumbled into a bizarre moral dilemma. (And while bizarre moral dilemmas had been unfortunately _common _across greater scope of their adventure, his present party unit was blissfully free of infighting!)

One of the crossbowmen stepped back from the barricades for a moment and then returned with a fellow who looked equal parts _nobleman_ and storied traveler. Such hybrids were sadly rare, and this one looked to nearly match Jaheira for temperment. "Aye we've been looking for help to see us through the last week of this daminable fall!" the man called. "But _you_ don't look like much! Four o' ye?"

Jaheira narrowed her eyes. "And a dwarf."

Before a nobleman and a druid could end up in a fight about looks, Xan breathed a simple _Friends_ spell to smooth over the encounter, elbowed his cloak lightly out of the way that his more ornate robes might be visible, and rested a hand on his Moonblade. He stepped up beside Jaheira to take the benefit of her taller, burlier, and more no-nonsense appearance:

"Sir Charleston Nib, I presume?" Xan would never be as _loud,_ commanding or always-right as their druid, that was for certain, but he did know exactly what to say in this specific instance. "I'm to understand you've been skirmishing frequently with the bandits, so we've brought three specialists in magical healing, one of whom tells me she knows more than her share of common remedies for gangrene. Barring a need for that, I spent the morning memorizing spells for softening earth, hardening earth, and moving water about. All, of course, at the recommendation of my dwarven comrade."

This was the best news, from start to finish, that Sir Charleston Nib had had the pleasure of hearing in a long time, and he was quick to stand the crossbowmen down and to wave the party forward.

Jaheira peered down at Xan and Xan peered up at Jaheira and likely they both came to the conclusion that they made a good 'team' in such matters and ought to collaborate more in the future.

...

* * *

"It would be incredibly unlike you to come out here and _help_ me..."

The hairs on the back of Shar-Teel's neck bristled as she stood up from the log she'd been hacking apart, and her lips peeled back in a sneer. Slowly, she turned about to see the bard there, holding an armfuls of branches he'd been gathering for firewood.

_Insult? No. Tread carefully._ "Particularly when I already owe you an apology."

"There is _absolutely nothing_," she growled, tearing the log apart those last few inches by hand, and then gathering up the split pieces, "that I want from _you_, little man."

He watched her for a moment, and then showed unacceptable surety and cockiness by taking a step closer to her. She wouldn't do him the credit of calling him brave. "All the same: I was late. You ended up having to do all the work." _Lure._

"How exactly is that different from anything at all you've done in your entire miserable life, worm?" she asked, advancing on him and almost laughing. Viconia thought she needed to let some stress out? Oh-ho, she was going to break this bard's _teeth, _and that was going to make her feel much, much better. "You're worthless city scum; and the smell of a weak and perfumed male is churning my stomach."

He half-closed his eyes, as if annoyed, and she grinned at the sign she'd touched a nerve.

"You don't belong here, you're too _weak_," she goaded and spat. "You belong back in luxury, with your old nags and idiot trollops, their plush cushions and silver-lined purses..."

"The gate to the city is closed, and you may notice I am employed in helping open it again. But since you brought it up, I _do _usually work for my upkeep." He shrugged a little, gaze shuttered. "Mn... One way or another."

Shar-Teel paused, and then straightened slightly as she wondered if she'd parsed that correctly. "If you just dared suggest what I _think_ you suggested-"

_Slowly, carefully._ "You'll what, exactly? Appreciate the irony of gendered role reversal? I must be confused about how to offend you then: I thought the key was male chauvinism, not whoring myself out to repay a woman for the strength of her sword arm and the abatement of her ire."

She narrowed her eyes at him.

He didn't quite look straight at her. _Demure_. _Lacking suggestion of control. Dash of nervousness_. _Pretending-to-pretend at bravery._ "Shar-Teel, out of everyone in present company, you are the only one who despises me. And you are well-liked by all three of our traveling companions, _and_ by your leader. I do not have the luxury of making an enemy out of you."

"You're afraid of me," she realized.

_Hook. _"I am aware of my social status, and strategic about maintaining my footing."

"No. _Right now_. You're afraid of me." She stepped closer, like a curious jaguar, a grin twitching at her mouth. "You don't _like _this... Your skin is crawling."

_There we go_. _Good girl. Follow the scent._ He stepped back, keeping his chin lowered. _Defensive. _"I have more than enough sharp objects to ensure my own safety; though I thank you for your concern." _Follow the bait. _

"I'll bet you do." She reached out to grab at him and he dropped the kindling and swiftly drew a knife. She pushed him up into the tree, and he laid the flat of the knife warningly against her side, below the breastplate. "Tch. And here I was just entertaining your offer. Gonna try and take me down with ogre poison, are you?" She was grinning. She felt in control. She _was_, and that was exactly why this was working.

"I don't actually want to be injured in this process, funnily enough," he hissed with a curl of the upper lip, glaring up at her as if truly threatened; as if trying _to_ threaten from an obvious position of inferiority_. That's what fear looks like._

"Oh, _poor baby_," she growled, hemming him in with both arms against the tree.

"So I've a condition to impose," he emphasized. "I will do the work—and I will take nothing for myself—but it's to happen the 'nice' way."

"Is that so?" She found the straps for his crossbow bolts, and undid them, dropping the weapons to the ground. "Doesn't sound much like my type of fun, now does it? Tell you what: How about you demonstrate the 'nice' way for me, lamb chop, and see if I take to it."

He wrinkled his nose. She was close enough, _c_urious enough, and hungry enough; so after a moment's pause and a visible swallow, he raised his chin—slowly, smoothly—and kissed her. Would she break his wrist to disarm him? No. _Good girl_. Giving people what they wanted was easiest when he was permitted to employ a gentler touch. He sheathed the knife, and reached under the faulds of the breastplate to find her trouser ties.

"That was cute. Did you show off your tongue for a _reason_, or do you honestly think I wanted to taste you?"

He paused and eyed her, to imply without saying: 'I don't usually do this.' The appearance of displeasure made her grin, and, slowly, he knelt.

...

* * *

Work at the archaeological site was not particularly glamorous, leaving Jaheira far too much time to dwell on how the other parties might be doing. Khalid kept her occupied by tracking down miners and crossbowmen afflicted with anything from gout to splinters, and bringing them along for a health assessment. Branden and Yeslick were more at ease, swapping stories of fortifications and battles won with one-another while they worked. Khalid had to place credit where it was due: the two of them were doing wonders for the dig site's morale. Which was fortunate, because the dig site's guards were largely mercenary troops, and needed the booster.

"Khalid?"

Khalid blinked and turned about to find Xan swiftly returning from whence he'd been speaking with Sir Nib.

{May I have a word with you? It's about an... offer I just recently received.}

Khalid's attention riveted on the smaller elf, and his he raised his brows in question. Xan nodded. Khalid glowered. {Who from?} he asked coldly.

{Lovely gentlemen,} Xan lowered his voice to a whisper, {whose retaining fee is clearly smaller than his appetite.}

{When?}

{Nib is looking for a specific artifact. Just as soon as it is out of the ground...}

{How many?}

{I need an hour or so to sift through all the thoughts here, if I'm to get a precise accounting in advance.}

{Estimate?}

{At least twelve, though some may be paid to simply desert their posts rather than attack. If anyone asks, my excuse is that I am 'communicating telepathically with my bosom sister about whether she liked her birthday party.' I am going to start reading now...}

{Understood.} Khalid's newly dour mood lightened slightly again. {Branwen w-will scold y-you,} he teased.

Truth be told, Branwen had been growing more and more tolerant of his enchantments of late, especially with regards to strategic mind-reading. Perhaps that was because he'd finally taken to explaining himself, or perhaps Xzar and Edwin simply provided sufficiently horrible contrast... Or perhaps he'd simply gotten a lot more frugal and careful with his abilities under her oversight. A mixture of all three was likely closest to the truth, and she'd still likely give him a stink-eye. {True. But then I have several new techniques for repenting.} Oh dear. Had he just said that aloud-?

Khalid actually broke out laughing. Xan turned bright red out to his ears and covered his face with both hands.

...

* * *

Viconia was getting ashes and wood chips and leaves out of her hair, and didn't look up at Ajantis as he returned, affecting disinterested. The paladin came up beside her, and sat, but said nothing. Ajantis emotions usually only ran a small and predictable gamut, ranging just from 'bright and protective' to 'embarrassed or indignant' to 'tormented and despairing of his own inadequacy.' She found her comb and continued to work. He didn't ask about her leg, or mention how the attempted reconciliation with his knight-god had gone. The silence stretched between them.

"Well?" she demanded as she turned about to glare at him. Was he in good-standing with Helm or not!? And how dare he _ignore_ her?!

"Viconia," he lamented, chin resting on his palm as he tried to puzzle out something much too complicated for his poor knightly brain to handle, "can you translate something for me? I'm stumped."

She blinked, glanced out towards Shar-Teel's half completed tent and Coran's sickly fire, and then looked back at him again. "Very well."

"What does it mean that Shar-Teel and Eldoth are having sex?"

The idea that Shar-Teel would let such a _lowly_ and _inadequate _male near her on this particular day was actually somewhat vomit-inducing, though perhaps compensated for if one presumed she had the upper hand and would use it to torment and insult the bard each and every moment. Hmm. Well, before Viconia could more thoroughly analyze this latest development, a far more pressing question required an answer: "Poor sweet chaste Little Brother: Are you telling me you went out to pray, and that—on your innocent and sunny skip back to camp—you somehow managed to barge in on two people rutting in the woods?"

"No, I'd look far more miserable than this, if so. But Coran was so overeager to steer me _away_, that he inadvertently revealed to me what was happening." He shifted uncomfortably. "Coran also assured me he would linger close enough to help, in the event Eldoth tries to kill her."

"Or needs assistance," Viconia speculated mirthfully.

"_Viconia_," Ajantis reproached with a grimace. Then he straightened up and gave a disgusted shake of his head. "I do not like this bard at all."

"Does this have anything to do with how he is presently fucking your girlfriend?"

"Well perhaps!" He turned scarlet, and cleared his throat. "The bard. Do you know what his game is? I have seen you ask questions about his past and socialize with him in ways you have not extended even onto female friends. Either you are intentionally allowing his charm to seep in through your cracks, or else you are warming up to him _unwittingly_. Highly suspect, given that you are not extorting favors from him, he does not show you deference, and the way he speaks about your appearance suggests he considers you a plesant _challenge_."

Viconia narrowed her eyes at him, and crossed her arms, and considered this. "When did you grow so observant? You are a paladin, these things are supposed to go on beneath your nose without you ever noticing them."

"My roommate is a Sharran who makes mortal enemies every time she so much as sneezes loudly. I am _learning_, that I might be of use. Now, teach me: why would he approach Shar-Teel?"

"Fear," Viconia answered automatically. "A man who fears he can no longer afford to take risks, tries to pay off debts."

"You want to go with the simplistic answer for him?" Ajantis pushed. "From what little I know of Eldoth... he doesn't spook easily."

Her brows furrowed. "No, he doesn't. He didn't fall victim to the Horror spell. And his patience whilst off-stage during the Oni fight suggests a very calm mind. If I am to understand it correctly, he sat down, unpacked his gear, brewed poison, applied it, got into position, waited for the right moment, and then helped end the fight cleaned and surely by employing one spell, a taunt, and a single bolt. I wonder if it is possible that his unruffled demeanor _isn't_ the act..." She placed a hand thoughtfully over her mouth, and then looked back to Ajantis. "You fear him?"

Ajantis opened his mouth to say something, paused, sighed, waffled visibly over whether he was going to say it or not, and then finally hung his head and submitted onto it: "The stench of something evil lingers about him."

Ha! "Oh really? You know I think it's been a very long time since you've spoken to me about odorous moralities. Tell me, Little Brother, do _I_ stink of evil?"

"No."

"I fear your nose may not be objective."

"Name one genuinely evil thing you have done in the last three weeks."

Viconia eyed him, straightened, opened her mouth, drew a blank, leaned back, recalled that she couldn't have admitted to anything anyway, realized she'd already lost the chance to use that excuse, and eventually frowned. "...Aside from reanimating corpses, depriving Coran of sex, or implying you and Shar-Teel are in a relationship?"

"That last one was reprehensible, but not strictly-speaking evil," the paladin assessed, taking the comb from her and turning about to help her with her hair. "Now pay attention: What are we to do we do about Eldoth?"

Viconia muttered about surfacers, men, infidels, and fools, and nestled backwards into his arms to think the problem over.

...

* * *

When Xan finally reported in to Khalid, he did so telepathically. _Our adversary, a mister 'Gallor,' has paid off two thirds of the camp guards to desert their posts. He also has seven men of his own. Thugs, not crossbowmen. _The extent of the bribery was surprising, and suggested Gallor might have a wealthy patron. Otherwise, it was unlikely he'd gamble so heavily on the artifact's potential value. _Someone is presently approaching the camp cook with the intention of adding a derivative of poppy; a doping, to make bloody work that much easier in a few hours. _That was something Jaheira could handle.

{How much longer?} Khalid asked.

{Not long,} Xan speculated. _A few hours. Yeslick approved their present course, and I was called upon to remove a great deal of the groundwater. That made matters simpler. Nib has all the diggers presently employed._

Khalid had managed to communicate to the others that something was amiss, to prevent them from expending too much of their valuable healing. Jaheira was glancing to them repeatedly, waiting for news. Khalid smiled brightly, and gave a little wave.

_I am going to 'accept' Gallor's offer, _Xan explained. _It will be the easiest way to catch him unawares._

{I'll let J-jaheira know.}

Xan nodded, and rose to go deliver his 'acceptance' to the traitor. He returned looked perfectly composed but lost in thought, and perhaps that was why Branwen called out, "Hey Xan! Xan, come here. We were sharing war stories. Tell us about your homeland, would ye?"

The elf pause, blinked several times, and then pivoted and came up to her. "War stories?" he asked. "I am very slightly _young_ to have been involved in any substantial 'wars.'"

"Battle stories then!" the cleric laughed. "Come on now, you _know _the sort I like!"

"Well... I... I fear I am a bit too pessimistic to relate any of my _own _battle stories with much grandeur or enthusiasm. I'd tell them all wrong. But..." he took a seat. "I _do_ know a tale or two of Evereskan wars, and my family has had more than its fair share of Graycloaks..."

...

* * *

Tinesife Espinosa, Cleric of Myrkul and expert in Underground Flora, had resigned himself to stay displeased with them. He kept his nose raised, greeted them cordially upon arrival, referred to them as 'the squatters,' and then bluntly asked if the work would be finished soon. Gorion agreed that he hoped it would be. Tinesife then simply turned about and left.

"Tis a pity ye've gone and gotten Mushroom Boy cross with ye," Tallix cooed, giving no sign that she was still recovering from the emotional outpouring of that morning. "Ye could have gone and assembled the most ramshackle party Faerun's ever seen. Aasimar wizards, halfling assassins, clerics o' fungi, incorporeal... what the hell did ye say ye was again?" she asked with a glance at the secretly stolen urn.

"Oh no," the wraith moaned. "She's remembered that I exist."

"Nae, nae, Old Auntie's in a plesant mood. Tell me yer sad backstory with more detail to it this time, eh? Ye from hereabouts?"

"Aye..." The wraith decided to tentatively oblige her a conversation. "My home was amid the Shaeradim. In Evereska."

"That's the elvish city nestled up in the mountains, no? Can't say I know much about it. Never been contracted to kill anyone thereabouts, I s'pose."

"I should hope _not_!"

"Oi, hsst! I'm baitin' an expository monologue outta the wizard about the damn place, so I dinnae actually have ta strain me voice askin' a thousand questions of ye. Yeesh."

"I'm presently _doing something_," their assimar reminded them patiently. "Whilst reeling from my own encounter with exposition, to boot. Entertain yourself for a bit; distracting _me_ is only prolonging your boredom."

Tallix stuck her tongue out at him.

The wraith huffed. "Well. I was a warlock. I suppose I, too, have the gift for expository monologuing."

Tallix raised an incredulous brow at him. "Ye were an _elvish warlock_? The hells does that happen? Sounds backwards. I thought elves preferred hidin' out in their quasi-utopias, writin' ballads amid unicorns and flowers, pretending the rest of the world weren't goin' on by; except to occasionally frolick off to boff human wenches in a tavern somewhere to make a few half elves by way of contributing to the greater adventurin' community."

"Exactly what percentage of you is incendiary bombastic vernacular, and what part of it is authentic barbarism?"

"Tch, he's gettin' wise ta me, Ri! We need ta dump him in a font o' holy water, I'm tellin' ya. S' right evil he is!"

"To _begin with_, Evereska means 'Fortress Home,'" expounded the wraith. "We are not _Evermeet _that we should romanticize all notion of escaping this world! We are _very proactive _and _active_ players in the region. Our location was chosen for defensive and strategic purposes, not at the behest of some starry-eyed, beauty-drunk poet! Though it is beautiful. Quite majestic, really."

"O course it is."

"We have a military history stretching back nine thousand years!" he redoubled his assertion, crossly. "Our defenders—our Graycloaks—are organized into multi-talented squadrons making fluid and adaptive use of numerous magical and physical disciplines! The mountains make the city nigh insurmountable, though we have been active enough in regional conflicts that it seems there is always some dragon, troll army, or lich lord brazen enough to try breaching our walls. To try _reaching_ our walls! If we did not have an army filled with wizards, or a circle of highly renown diviners, or some of the world's most profoundly talented magical armor-smiths who can give the gift of magical flight to our soldiers—if magic herself were to falter!—we would still have a network of beacon fires, messenger birds, and soldiers mounted upon pintos who could keep our oversight of the mountains and their valleys at peak efficiency! Evereska is _armed!_"

"Yer lucky I'm retired, givin' me all this tactical knowledge."

"No, I've agreed to this monologue _because_ you are retired, and because apparently you are leashed to the morals of a Harping aasimar, rendering you comparatively toothless next to what I'd have ordinarily expected of a century-old Mooneyed shadowdancer with a surfeit of poisons smuggled in her bosom, who claims to have won several gambling competitions against the god Mask."

"Wait, how the devil can ye tell he's a Harper?"

"You just confirmed for me that he is a Harper. Now stop interrupting me, this is a _monologue_, not a _dialogue_."

Tallix leaned near Gorion and elbowed him gently. "We're keeping this snide elvish abomination, right?"

"Which? The irregular and highly evolved incorporeal wraith, with glowing maroon eyes and dagger fingers, who's allegedly lost some claim on his soul to a _demon_ of all things (which is always very confusing and messy, by the way) who appears to becoming more and more lucid and intelligent the longer he's with us, and who may or may not turn into a hormonal force of necromantic malice the moment he convinces one of us to let him out? Hmm. I don't know... This sounds like one of those fables in which the main characters die horribly as a warning onto others..."

"Look Ri, he's a very cute wraith."

Gorion heaved a melodramatic sigh, and glanced back towards the urn. In another life, he would have never dreamed of keeping such a thing about them for longer than the time took to destroy it. But now its inclusion seemed poetic. Appropriate. Strange fragments of hope, found amid the darkness; a chance at redemption at a time of 'life' all others would consider already damned... They would have to look into this story more closely, but perhaps there was some goodness here worth saving. "Im thinking about it."

"What's yer name, ghosty?" Tallix asked.

"My name?" the wraith hesitated. "I... how do I not remember? I remember other things, as I've demonstrated, and I remember with growing ease. Harder things than my own name." He hesitated. "Hold on, I am stabbing at the problem from other angles. Trying to remember what others _called_ me. Is this something I lost to the demon? My _name_? Ah! Ah, ah, I remember the surname of my daughters and that surname must also be mine. "The Feilien sisters," a boy called them. So my surname is Feilien, but, other than that, I cannot piece together the memory."

"Well, this is a fair start," Tallix mused. "Gives us a place ta start rootin' for info about ye and the state of yer family. Still not letting ye outta the urn, mind ye; Ri's got a point."

"Fair enough. I wouldn't let me out either. With my luck, the interior is enchanted to keep me placid and I'd scarce know myself outside it."

"Nae, nae, ye were decent enough before we stuffed ye in there," Tallix promised in a cutesie voice. "Dinnae worry about that, sweet monster."

"'Sweet monster.'" The wraith sighed. "Now that my mind's on it, can either of you give me the _date _please?"

"Today? Bout mid Uktar, thirteen sixty-eight."

The wraith hummed thoughtfully. "I think I've been dead about a hundred years. A hundred and thirteen? It seems longer, somehow..."

Gorion shook his head and sighed wistfully. "Well at least we can be doubly sure he's an elf. Only an elf complains about 'a century' not sounding long enough. I'm over here just wondering where the last _decade_ went."

...

* * *

[Author's Note]

If you know _you know_ something but can't put your finger on what it was because it happened too long ago, it was probably at the bottom of chapter 21. I know _I_ had to go diving through archives of Part I to figure out exactly how old someone was to get my time frame right. It was casually mentioned, once, at breakfast, way back in Part 1, chapter 47. Guys, this story is too big. I need to hire it a manager.


	41. The Mouse that Roars

_**The Mouse that Roars**_

...

* * *

The spades were digging. Charleston Nib was braced in anticipation. The only things Jaheira and company were presently worried about were the backstabbing mercenaries clustered around the exit to the burial chamber. Xan had tried not to alert or alarm anyone as he readied protective spells for combat. Jaheira was holding a _Barkskin_ on the tip of her tongue. Branwen and Yeslick were both summoning holy weapons. Then they all saw the edge of whatever had been unearthed, _glimpsed _it for but a second. Jaheira tensed, and Yeslick shouted a warning.

Ultramarine energy exploded across the crown of the room, the earth rumbled, and smells of ozone and sweat and decay filled the air. The party members stumbled, yes, but diggers broke out in a chorus of screams, clawing at themselves and one another with naught but their nails in a maddened frenzy, will foam beading at their mouths. Khalid shoved himself to the front of the party, bless him, shield already raised to block them off. Their lanterns crashed to the ground, and the splatters of flaming oil significantly worsened the whole of the situation.

"Xan, can you-?" Jaheira trailed off as she saw the state of their party enchanter. His eyes might as well have been orbs of purple faerie fire, and his staggered posture and heavy nose-bleed suggested he was reeling from the aftershocks of whatever... _curse_?... had just hit them all. He'd _shielded_ them from it, or some-such. Despite the presence of two clerics and a druid, the only thing that saved their lives thus far was the quick reaction time of a chronically pessimistic wizard, and he looked to have paid for it. Yeslick caught him from falling over, and then Branwen had to sweep him off his feet.

Had any of their own party members succumbed to the same thing as most of the diggers? No, Yeslick, Branwen, Khalid-Even Sir Nib himself looked to have been shielded, if only by coincidental proximity to Xan. Then she heard Khalid gasp and whimper apologies, and she realized the diggers were not only throwing themselves upon her husband's tower shield but also upon his sword! He was doing his best to keep all of them back, particularly with Xan down and Branwen occupied in trying to revive him.

"This... this is divine work...!" Yeslick exclaimed. "It's old as it is vile! I'm not sure I can cure it; not sure if anyone can!"

Jaheira reached a similar conclusion through communion with he Earthmother. "They are berserk!" she called to the others. "They are lost, and being driven out into the sunlight, and it will _spread_ if anyone else is bitten...!"

Khalid took a deep breath, and whispered a prayer for forgiveness unto the gods. Jaheira tried to help, to take some of the... the moral burden off of him, but even in her Ankheg plate she was not so heavily armored as he. He stood such that he kept her behind him. He raised his sword, and did it himself.

The aftermath and cleanup were grim.

...

* * *

Branwen was able to set Xan back down on his feet after a minute or so, but he wove in place and blinked slowly at nothing. With Yeslick at her side to assist in the event of a bull-rush, she stepped out into the late afternoon light of the camp. Her holy malus glowed blue as she peered about. Where were the mercenaries? Gone? The camp outside was not as they had left it: it was largely deserted, with a few weak-hearted men cowering here or there and the stink of urine heavy in the air. The ambush they'd expected was nowhere to be found.

"Looks like magical fear," Branwen recognized. "I'd call them cowards, but oi that blast was potent...!"

Yeslick waded carefully out to a deserted mess table to take a gander at their surroundings. Then he waved Branwen to him. The two of them sat their enchanter down, and Branwen fished a kerchief from one of his pockets and wiped his face clean of blood.

"Xan?" she asked softly. "Xanisteirial Feilien, can you hear me?"

"Apply your healin' carefully lass," the dwarf advised as he kept watch. "A head-wound's a tricky thing to mend, and this looks to be a similar sort o' malady."

"Aye, that's a truth," the Norheimer muttered. "Can't have him striking up conversations with hamsters any time soon." She took her enchanter's face gently between her palms and breathed a prayer of fortitude and well-being to Tempus.

Xan shuddered and blinked rapidly. A groan escaped his lips, and he raised his hands to his face. He found the remaining bloodstains, and grimaced, and muttered something bewildered-sounding in Elfish.

"Xan?"

He perked up, and cyan eyes flit up to her. Alertness and sense rushed back into him. "That was a cursed artifact," he informed her succinctly, "and a trap. I attempted to deflect it, if rather on instinct."

"Aye, and that you most certainly did!" She laughed, and her voice was proud. "Thought you'd right keel over from the force of it, or at least we'd have another Feebleminded Wizard to lead about the hand for a tenday! Let me see you." She took his pointed chin in hand. "Tch. Half the blood vessels in your eyes have burst. That t'weren't no small compulsion nor charm you foiled, my dainty wizard."

"I... yes, well, mental magic is my forte; now where is everyone else?" he demanded, confused but reassured by Branwen's amorousness, and honestly quite titillated she'd memorized the names of the two sub-schools of enchantment and was using them in everyday conversation. It wasn't common a wizard's friends or family took such interest in their studies, particularly if they had no head for magic themselves.

"Talking to Sir Nib," Branwen answered, layering another gentle healing spell. "They're fine. Most of the diggers weren't, though."

Xan frowned, trying to decide if he felt relieved or guilty or a mixture of both.

"That weren't just a middling trap, lad," Yeslick turned towards them, brows furrowed. "That were a dead god's last breaths, tryin' to escape out through the minds o' those men it took." Xan twisted to blink at him in surprise. "Ah? Ye think dwarves don't dig up a fair share of things that ought to stay buried? Hnh! Suppose I shouldn't be too surprised anyone going up against Reiltar Anchev has a head as tough as yours, but... I've gotta say, that was a mighty impressive thing you just did. True as the earth is old. Woulda taken better than me to protect against such a curse, unless I'd had better forewarning...!"

Xan fell silent, because a dwarf had just called him 'hard-headed' but that _appeared_ to be a compliment, and every bit of 'diplomatic insight' he'd ever picked up from watching his fellow elves _belittle_ the earthen folk had taught him that dwarfish respect was a very rare and valuable commodity. He wasn't certain how to respond appropriately. Perhaps a nod to acknowledge the sentiment? Kivan was better with dwarves than he; Xan had very intentionally avoided speaking with Kagain.

Hmm. Wait._ A dead god_? Xan might have dismissed that notion as a simple-minded man's idle superstitions... if not for the proximity of Aegis of Candlekeep and the continued influence Bhaal was enjoying over the mortal world.

"I... really didn't do much," Xan admitted at last. "It is natural for a person to resist _damage_ _to the brain_, and enchanters have better tools than most for doing so. Um... _which_ dead god did you suspicion, if I might ask...?"

Yeslick (fortunately) seemed to consider this reply to be _humble_ as opposed to _condescending_, which Xan had belatedly realized it might appear. The dwarf shook his head about the query, though, uncertain. "Hard to say; didn't get a good look at whatever it is was they dug up, but the little spots of crumbled architecture showing through around it looked right Netherese. _Kozah_, maybe. Would explain why it smelled like a storm in there for a spell, even as there weren't no lightning about."

"It was definitely divine magic," Branwen offered, leaning back and putting her hands on her hips. "And it sure as Auril's breath's upon the land _did_ smell like storm. Wee man, you keep your wits about you these next few days, just in case. If any of that effect lingers, we'll need to get you to the Song of the Morning."

"Noted," Xan slowly stood himself up, for 'Kozah' was an infinitely better name to hear than, say, 'Jergal' or 'Bhaal' or 'Kazgoroth.' "However, I do feel quite recovered at present."

"Aye," Branwen laid an arm about his shoulders in a casual hug.

Jaheira exited the humble entryway to the dig site, accompanied by a gray-faced Khalid and an incredibly grim and downcast looking Charleston Nib. "This wasn't what I wanted," the man was saying. "Those poor sods deserved better. Just... just _take_ it, would you?"

"It's magic looks to be expended," Jaheira argued, "and you could now sell it," but Nib shook his head.

"A whole season I put into finding these ruins, with a full year of research behind it. For _this_? I want nothing more to do with it. I have some... work to do in making sure certain paychecks reach next of kin."

That was a remarkably goodly thing for him to say, Xan thought, and actually reminded one of Imoen. It probably would have earned commentary from everyone ranging from Ajantis to Xzar and Edwin, but thankfully, none of them were present to ruin the somber mood. Instead, Jaheira took the nullified artifact and gave Nib an understanding clasp upon the shoulder. He smiled thinly, thanked them, and then wandered off into the camp to see what remained of it.

"Well," Xan sighed. "Both our clerics," he nodded respectfully to Yeslick, "tell me this trap was of divine origins. Perhaps they should have a second look at the artifact, to ensure it won't somehow recharge?"

"The layout o' the site's most _certainly_ a temple," Yeslick agreed as he shambled over to peer at the thing, and Jaheira moved to meet them.

But no sooner had she taken a single step—presumably a step that took her outside the vicinity of the temple grounds, on reconsideration—than suddenly a whirlwind of metal burst up from the ground all around them, and the air stank once more of ozone and decay.

Reflex overtook the enchanter; A lifetime of paranoia (and a close acquaintanceship with a necromancer) told Xan the chill he felt at his back was an indicator of extraordinary and immediate danger. He spun about with a draw of his Moonblade, and then leaped a pace backwards because it was standing _right there_: Metal coalescing into a six-foot-tall armored entity that hefted a flaming great-sword and shimmered violently under the effects of some sort of _blur_ spell.

This was so bad that it actually required an entreaty onto a deity Xan otherwise didn't strongly identify with: "_Corellon Larethian_-!"

A voice rippled around the entity, hollow and loud like a hurricane: "_Ols rah... tun os Kozah_! This... is your... _DOOM..._! "

...

* * *

No one had time to appreciate the irony of someone informing Xan that he was doomed, because the "Doomsayer" leaped upon the tiny elf with a tongue of flame in hand, a 'sword' which sputtered and sparked as their elf yielded ground and furiously parried.

Now either Xan was _unusually_ well-practiced at predicting spells that distorted his vision of the enemy's sword, or else the Doomsayer's mind could be read, or perhaps (more likely) he was just incredibly lucky; for the Doomsayer was fast, and the Doomsayer was tall, and its sword had slammed down four or five times before anyone but Khalid had even spun about to see what was happening

But Khalid, who ought to have been the most distracted of any of them due to the butchery he'd been forced to commit, reached Xan's side at a lunge. He plowed into the Doomsayer with his shield because its surface area was larger and he was more guaranteed to hit, and he managed to push the entity several feet to the side and blessedly away from Xan.

Xan got an opportunity to actually _breathe_, and used those first gulps of air to stumble backwards and throw magical protections over himself. Not that it would do him much good if the entity pursued him...!

But then the Doomsayer whipped around to face Khalid, and the first hacks of its sword battered the poor half-elf back step after unsettling step! Jaheira sprinted past Xan, her quarterstaff whirling and ready to make extensive use of her Ankheg plating, but the fiend whirled about and struck her with such force she actually slid upon the mud and fell to the ground. Branwen, fortunately, was hot on her heels and stepped forward to take the next sword-fall on the length of her malus. Khalid struck from the opposite side—but immediately he felt as if his blade had an incredibly _muffled_ effect.

And the Doomsayer felt it, too, and so tried to press its luck at killing Jaheira over the next few seconds by focusing down Branwen. Their cleric doggedly tried to stand her ground and Jaheira did roll out of the way, but one great solid overhand hit from the Doomsayer nearly dislocated the Norheimer's arm and sent her reeling backwards with a cry of pain. Jaheira regained her feet, but the Doomsayer elected to ignore _her_ now and quickly turned about and sent a backhanded slash at Khalid. Flame bloomed high, and Khalid stumbled backwards from the suddenness. The Doomsayer all but _leaped_ upon him, and the next slash of flame elicited a startled cry from their foremost fighter.

"Khalid!" The earth trembled and vines burst up from it to momentarily hamper the Doomsayer, who proceeded to hack at them and to destroy them faster than they could grow. The spell still gave Jaheira time to skirt around its reach and get to her husband's side.

"It is either construct or undead," Xan blurted now that he'd caught his breath and had no idea what to do with himself, "and immune to both my specialty and everything I have prepared! I... I can do _nothing_!"

"Then keep out of the way!" Jaheira shouted back to him as if he was dense, or as if hadn't felt the force behind those swings and known a single missed parry would have cut him in half.

"Jaheira! Ken ye summon a Shillelagh or the like?" Yeslick hollered from the rear, sturdy but not as fast as the others even at a sprint, and only just now arriving to support Branwen and her glowing malus. "It ain't got flesh ta pierce; ye gotta target the dweomer! Use magic weapons!"

But of course the best magic weapon in the party was in the hands of a wizard who had no business standing toe-to-toe with any actual fighter; or, at least, not one that lacked for Shar-Teel's over-the-top character flaws.

...

* * *

Slash, slash, slash. The flame blade was starting to do real damage, cutting armor straps, notching shields, gouging metal, and leaving behind no small number of burns, blisters, and swiftly cauterize lacerations.

Khalid was trying to hold its attention on himself because he was the best-armored, but such plans were undermined by how rhythmically the knight was scoring small hits upon him. Branwen was trying to attack on Doomsayers from the opposite side, but the Doomsayer was blurred and moved attention effortlessly between targets. Truth be told, it was Yeslick who was getting in a hit here or there, perhaps because of his Blessed weapon and his considerably different stature and leverage. By comparison, Khalid and Branwen were not of dissimilar height.

And Xan, Xan was hardly doing better than watching...! The few times he'd tried to dance in and take a swing, he'd scarcely escaped with his life, and then that was only by the merit of his Mage Armor. The Doomsayer was firm on the riposte, and would punish any attempt to step into his reach.

Slash, slash, slash. Soon, if someone didn't get some luck or a brilliant idea, that sword would be carving up their corpses...! _Think!_

There was no time left to think. The fiend rounded on Khalid and struck hard and high, dislodging the half-elf's helmet. By now Khalid knew how fast it was and that the next blade would follow up for his head, so he rolled to the side and raised his shield high. He misjudged the angle, and he misjudged the Doomsayer's footwork. It lunged after him from the side, and the sword caught the edge of Khalid's shield and wrenched it away. The next blow struck the half-elf clear across the breastplate, leaving a sizable gouge and throwing Khalid to his back.

Jaheira-who was very abruptly a cougar instead of a person-leaped onto the thing's back in an apparent attempt to try and take some semblance of an advantage of a grapple over the flameblade's length. She could do no damage, not that Xan knew of, but the distraction was just enough for Khalid to scramble backwards and Branwen to engage.

Then: a yowl and a hiss of burning flesh! The Doomsayer pitched Jaheira into Yeslick and sent them both sprawling. Branwen scored a hit upon its arm, denting armor, but it whirled on her and struck in such a rapid fury that the flame blade seemed a fan of red. A hit jostled her malus from her fingers, and she tried to evade the next swing. The flame blade cracked into her shoulder pauldron, and spun her about, and though she cried out it seemed her armor held fast.

"Do something..." Xan pled with himself. The Doomsayer moved with a casual immediacy that suggested it wasn't thinking much about each hit, and if such motions were natural than perhaps there was rote and pattern and rhythm behind them-even fast as it might have been...!

Only Jaheira, Yeslick, and Khalid swarming the fiend from behind stopped it from pressing its advantage in Branwen, and now all of them were battered and exhausted. Like a cascade—like dominoes—it disabled them all: it split Jaheira's quarter staff in half, and kicked Yeslick over just as the stout cleric's _Bless_ spell faded. It turned on Khalid while the healers frantically tried to keep themselves in play.

Slash, slash, slash.

Khalid was panting and crisped, and no longer holding his shield rigidly aloft. He lifted it into each blow, and each one threw his arm and himself back a pace with a grimace. Every inch of movement was precious for its ability to soak just a little more force.

But he was going to be the first to die. They were _all_ going to die.

Knowing that made it easier for Xan to finally act. He moved from the sidelines at a sprint, as the only one of them not presently winded, and he held the Moonblade for a defensive sweep. Their adversary spun to face him immediately, with an eagerness that suggested it knew well which of them was armored and which of them would be easier pickings. Khalid stabbed it from behind, but did not do sufficient damage to halt it.

It charged to intercept Xan, who laid a hand flat against the Moonblade length to brace it, lifted it, and took the entity's opening slice upon the flat of the weapon.

Xan took the second slice by deflecting it, the third in a firm block, and the fourth by out-stepping it; he did not retreat, but skirted around the Doomsayer—even knowing how fast it could round on people—because there was no time to think, and this was what he knew. Yielding hadn't helped anyone, and Xan had memorized footwork for skirting tight about a practice target for longer than most of his party had been alive. A dance, his lone mentor had called it, aptly. A dance, abusing vertigo and blind spots and the principles of disorientation to try and find a hole. The Doomsayer elbowed at him and tried to step bodily into him to knock him off balance. That was new, but negotiable.

He spun out under a hit just as he felt his Mage Armor and Shield protections expire, and let the Doomsayer lunge straight for him, because if they were all going to die, then there was something he might try. The flame blade came for his body like a lance.

...

* * *

The tip of the Moonblade burst up from the back plating of the Doomsayer, wreathed in blue fire. The Doomsayer itself stopped moving, impaled as it was to the hilt. Its flameblade had sputtered out to ghosts of smoke, and had done so at so _crucial_ a moment that it took Xan several moments to register that he himself had not been skewered. He was alive.

Metal contorted, and cracked. With a high-pitched whine that tortured the ears, the Doomsayer exploded apart into mist and rust.

Xan stumbled forward to his knees, and then sat there with his Moonblade in his lap and both his hands atop it. He felt, distantly his party gather around him. They checked him for injuries. He wonder why they bothered: Khalid had clearly taken the brunt of the assault and was very obviously limping, and Jaheira was the only one of them who had been struck across the body without armor.

Was it too late to change professions? he wondered. Accounting. Accounting sounded safe.

Branwen squatted before him, and he blinked out of his post-adrenaline daze to see she was smiling from ear to ear. "That, wee man," she told him with a rough chafe of his arms and an affectionate rustle of his hair, "is a story I'll be telling to my children, and my children's children. Just you wait. What I wouldn't give to see the look on my parents' faces on the delivery of it...!"

... To the seven hells with accounting. Was it too late to duel-specialize as some sort of Spellsword? "Branwen," he mumbled quietly, depleted of all energy but somehow now terribly happy. She laughed and buried him in a hug. "You all did the work. I... I just had the right tool..."

"That's what we do _most_ battles for our wizards. Get the 'cannons lined up for firing,' if you'll excuse me a seafarer's expression. What's it matter?" She rubbed her cheek into his hair. "We're a _team_, right?"

Ah. Yes. And so they were.

...

* * *

The party camped far away from the ruins of Kozah, in a territory better to Jaheira's liking and with a supply of fresh water. She and Khalid both had taken a mean number of blows, but neither of them complained, and both bore the fruit of their labor as bruises and burns with a sort of grim satisfaction that, at least, the job had been done to the best of anyone's ability. They had their pay, and that was set to become quite important, for this trip had certainly underscored the wisdom in Aegis' decision to see them all armed and armored in magical equipment for the trip into Cloakwood.

"You aren't tired?" Xan asked, when he saw Khalid was the first to start gathering firewood.

Khalid turned in surprise and then blushed and smiled down at him. "Th-this may come as a s-suprise, but I've h-handled far worse marches, actually." He gave a little laugh. "Aren't _you_ tired? You shouldered a heavy b-burden... magical and non. I-I don't mind a few _chores_ a-at all. "

It was easy to overlook Khalid. Easier still when he was oft overshadowed by Jaheira. "Xzar once suggested you might have been a soldier...?" Xan recalled.

Khalid smiled a little less, and Xan immediately knew he did not want to prod. "Once, yes. Th-that was a long time ago. It... it wasn't all bad, but it didn't end nicely."

"I'm sorry. Here, let me help, at least." For a bit the two of them were quiet as they worked together in the growing dusk.

Khalid cleared his throat. "P-pardon the inquiry but, a-are the two of you, em, getting along a-again?"

"I and... Xzar?" Xan furrowed his brow, and looked off at nothing in particular. Then he glanced at Khalid gave a shrug. "I have resumed a neutral stance on the subject of his party membership. We need the firepower, and while Xzar is undoubtedly problematic, he is still presently pointed in the right direction to assist us. "

"You could say the s-same about Edwin." Yes, one _could. _That didn't mean one _would_. "But I r-rather meant: have you... s-sort of forgiven him? Th-the two of you a-always got along better than I w-would have ever expected."

What an interesting and damnably complicated question. Jaheira wouldn't have ever asked it. "Xzar is..." Xan glanced back at the camp, took note of how far away Jaheira was, and sighed, "surprisingly difficult to stay angry with, for a mentally unsound necromancer with questionable religious affiliations who has openly admitted to past run-ins with cannibalism."

"O-one does wish he could be a little less, um, well, _evil_."

"There are many times I suspect he is more ill-socialized, radicalized, and _amoral_ rather than genuinely malicious by nature. A trip through his mind didn't shed much light on the matter. It is something of a miracle he can function at all."

Khalid had another interesting question, which suggested Xzar had hinted many a thing the otherwise overlooked fighter had slowly picked up on: "Do you th-think we should take his r-ramblings seriously?"

"I think he vents a lot of high-strung energy by saying his thoughts aloud in the exact convoluted terms by which they first appeared in his head," Xan supplied. "Which is to say that his ramblings are all _real information_, but encoded in such a form as no one can much understand them. Even Xzar himself. Aegis seems to have some luck." Xan considered that. "She pays more attention to him and to world events than I initially understood."

"Sh-she was raised by a very learned man. A-and sh-she seems to l-like stories and m-mysteries."

" Is there something in particular he was rambling about? She once told me she had never pitied Xzar, and that he took care of _her_ twice as much as she took care of him."

"Th-that's not entirely untrue," Khalid mused aloud. Xan looked to him in surprise and Khalid blushed. "I-I am not that clever, but I've _watched_. X-xzar is... a _ghastly_ creature, and something is t-_terribly _wrong with h-him th-that I can just _b-barely_ tolerate i-ignoring... but from the beginning, f-from the moment he f-first m-met Aegis, h-he has flanked her d-defensively. H-he never let her g-go anywhere alone. H-he was better at babysitting our best friend's child than _we _w-were."

"Do not feel particularly terrible about that... he may want to _use_ her for something for which he is keeping her safe. But I believe Aegis meant her sentiment in a more... relationship-oriented way? Less... actual defensive positioning."

Khalid shifted, and then said, "They s-spoke to one another v-very frequently, o-often in rhyme or r-riddle. W-we probably dismissed it b-because we didn't understand. But s-seeing how much sh-she _liked_ interacting like this, I've th-thought long and hard about h-how Gorion must have... raised her. With puzzles... perhaps. With... thinking. Sh-she is not clever like Imoen, but she is... _wise_ for her age. I th-thought about how _well_ G-gorion hid us from Aegis, and Ae-aegis from us. And I-I realized something. Aegis must have had _symptoms_. And that he was protecting h-her from being in-influenced by any j-judgements about those s-symptoms."

Xan turned to him. "Symptoms?"

"S-she described f-following around K-kivan upon first m-meeting him as a ch-child. Imoen s-said she laughed at funerals. I-I think Aegis can sense d-death, a-and finds it reassuring, and I think Xzar knew she would have some affinity for her 'father.' I think Aegis... surrounded by so many g-good and upright people... I-I think she found an _outlet_ in talking to X-xzar. H-he wouldn't judge her. And h-he knew things about how she would feel. He could... s-steer her past mental obstacles."

"Many a good person has been tempted or misled that way..." Xan mused.

Khalid was silent a beat, because he agreed, but then he said: "Don't y-you find it interesting... Aegis' o-one party rule is _n-not_ to _kill_? Knowing, now, who h-her blood father was? Isn't it... important... th-that she holds to her rule, s-so ardently, in the f-face of everything? I-I don't think G-gorion ever i-impressed upon her that D-Death gods were... well... evil? But then, sh-she also grew up into a," Khalid sputtered, "a-a-a _surprisingly_ d-decent person. A-and strong in wh-what she believes to be right. Xz-xzar _must_ have tried to s-steer her otherwise. _Must have_. B-but can't."

Per...perhaps that was what attracted Xzar to her, explaining another mystery. A wizard wished to be powerful in his own right, but a cleric wanted someone stronger-willed than themselves to supply direction, and Xzar was _both _types of people wrapped into one. "I think I see your point. Whatever your Gorion _did_ in raising her, he didn't want her to be reliant on the opinions of moral authority figures for validation, because obviously she'd get none." That made sense, and it also explained why she could walk clear over Ajantis' and Jaheira's opinions about the nature of Evil. "He wanted her to have a strong internal sense of direction. The only way to do that would be to make sure she didn't second-guess herself as a child, which meant tolerating her quirks and trying to just _gradually_ try to socialize her towards more 'normal' behavior." Which was the polar opposite of what Xan's uncle had done in raising Xan, he thought dryly. "Some of which would have happened on its own just so she could get along better with Imoen. Of course, a fascination for necromancers would sneak in there, somewhere, but with none of the malice one needs to orchestrate an Iron Crisis or plunge the region into war..."

Khalid smiled knowingly, proud of his niece and perhaps also of his dead friend.

"What was your Gorion _like_?" Xan thought to ask. "The rest of us do not know much about him." He'd clearly been one hell of a parent, whether for good or ill in the end.

"He was..." Khalid thought back. "Impulsive. Fierce. Well-studied. _Clever_. He thought of e-everything from _outside _the boundaries of the problem, from every a-angle. He never attacked head-on. He could be contrary. He was a very giving p-person but h-had no patience for angels or kn-knights. Sometimes he could _be_ knightly though, l-like you, and p-put himself at risk to p-protect others." Xan was taken a back by that. "He could be wise when it came to providing for o-others, b-but foolish in taking c-care of himself. Ae-aegis reminds me of him. What a-attributes she d-doesn't have, she looks for a-and admires in o-others. Sh-she's better at taking care of herself than he was."

Xan contemplated this. "Do you trust him? We know very little about Bhaal's children, and have few ways to research them at present. Do you trust him enough to stake all our lives on his judgement? You hadn't seen him for many years at the time of his death. Is it was possible he had some strange ulterior motive in raising her, or that he'd been compromised in any way?"

Khalid explained: "He w-was our oldest, dearest, most beloved friend. More like family. W-we would have trusted him in anything. Letting him _go_ so he could raise Aegis was... very hard. Jaheira still has a pendant made from his feathers. I was the one who assaulted him and plucked them for her, as a memento."

This was very touching, and made Xan sad for a long while. "Then, let me ask if you recall Montaron's advice to Imoen, and how he mentioned an _assassin_ who claimed to know Gorion. As his friend, did you ever hear about a person who might fit that description? Or is this an acquaintanceship he might have contracted in secret?"

Khalid hesitated, but from the look on his face he'd not forgotten this detail and had been raking his memories for clues. "Well, Jaheira doesn't remember this, but I-I do: When G-gorion went missing on adopting Aegis, we grilled Winthrop about Gorion's adventures with him. Winthrop was evasive, but fed us a few details about party composition, including that it contained a sun elf fighter. W-winthrop must not have realized we _knew_ who this person likely was, nor did we suspect we'd track him down to talk to him. He and his partner, a half-orc druid, had both traveled with Gorion, and were not as evasive. They didn't know where he was, but they did mention a cleansing, a very grand scale battle, and a personal betrayal by the party's cleric and its dungeoneer. The latter they knew was a Moonsea halfling woman, and they called her _Tallix_. The same name Montaron gave."

Xan stared at him. "You remember all that?" he asked at last.

Khalid blushed again. "I watch," he answered shyly, and then coughed. "Later on, after we found Gorion, he was tipped off by someone about an assassin after Jaheira. I asked who gave us the clue, which was smudged with red lipstick. He said 'a better assassin.' I didn't know what that meant, but... I didn't forget it in the excitement of the moment, either. And G-gorion w-went off to talk to a halfling woman who was selling t-turnips, a few weeks later, v-very irate. He moaned something like 'I know that voice,' but came back looking shocked and asking for quiet. I thought maybe it was all c-connected, but w-wondered why he didn't simply ask Khelben to help him."

Xan gaped at him for a moment, and then said, "I think I understand how Jaheira is such a well-respected member of your organization now. You are her secret weapon." Khalid stammered something as Xan considered the implications of all this. "So there really is, in fact, some highly suspicious halfling woman afoot who has a connection to Gorion or to Aegis, and whose intentions may be just as difficult to guess at as Xzar's."

"So you haven't f-forgiven him? Xzar."

Xan was quiet for a moment. "I have, but I am braced to be horrifically disappointed with myself for doing so. I cannot help it. He looks at me like a kicked puppy and passes me crumpled notes asking 'do you still hate me'?" The enchanter heaved a martyred sigh. "I wish it was easier for him to grasp what he's even done _wrong_, that we might be assured some protection from similar calamities in the future simply owed to his affection for us, but alas I'm afraid even in _trying_ to please us he is just as likely to bring about all sorts of horrors." The enchanter shrugged. "My cynicism at least councils me to keep close watch on him. For his sake as much as anyone's."

"He is your f-friend."

"He is my... friend," Xan admitted this was true. "He's just particularly bad at showing it such that it can be appreciated. And I... have my own demons."

"I-I really _struggle_ with Aegis' decision to keep him." This was surprising, given how gently Khalid had fished for what Xan thought about the necromancer. "I kn-know the reason is that she sees him as a p-person, besieged by problems that might be... a-alleviated? But... kn-knowing that you still f-focus on his m-motives—if n-not his transgressions—comforts m-me somewhat."

Xan huffed. "Do you often play devil's advocate? A sliver of him I can even admire. He managed to defy a geas and the extraordinary conditioning levied on him by his captors just to save the woman he loved. Could you or I have done the same? I don't know. And even if some of it was perverted religious devotion on his part, not all of it was."

Khalid asked, a little wryly, "So what do you think of Edwin, now?"

"Edwin is an idiot and deserves to fall of a cliff without featherfall prepared," Xan informed him dryly. "And no, I don't care about the parallels with Imoen 'seeing something we don't see,' or how defying a Thayvian Zukir has a similar danger quotient to defying a Darkhold Cleric, so don't you _dare_ argue them with me. It's not sufficient to get past that overbearing, obnoxiously disgusting personality. Xzar can be _cute_, and that's my story, and I'm sticking to it. Maddened it sounds, yes, but we have to draw the line somewhere, and the necromantic maniac likes rolling about in the snow playing with _his kitten_."

Xan and Khalid were quiet for a moment, though Khalid was clearly laughing inside. Xzar was a bit more palatable through the lens of people who had somehow managed to like him, Xan supposed. and, much as Khalid and Jaheira seemed poised to tolerate the party's pompous conjurer, it was reassuring to know no one at all outside of the two Candlekeep girls had a single thing to say in his defense. At least there was some small sanity in that. Xzar was a disaster; Edwin had no excuses.

"I'm sorry, wait, back up a step," Xan waved a hand so urgently that Khalid supposed he should back up more than one, "in that story where you tracked down Gorion's old party members, did you mention a sun elf _fighter _and a half-orc _druid_... and refer to them as _partners_?"

Khalid beamed. "Haftyril and H-harus! They are married. They are, heh, both male, but... Haftyril is definitely the, er, show-offy 'boy' of the couple, despite being much older than any of us. Harus _is_ part orc, but he is quiet and very s-sweet."

"... I see."

"Actually, Haftyril might be someone y-you'd like to be introduced t-to. H-he's a _Bladesinger_, you see, and I thought..." He gestured to the Moonblade.

"Is... _everyone_ remotely connected to this Gorion and his family all fantastically peculiar?" Xan wondered quietly.

"It comes from i-improper screening of f-friends," Khalid teased. "Gorion and Ae-aegis have a way of attracting the best of m-misfits." He likely thought of Xzar again. "And the worst... I really struggle with her decision to keep the n-necromancer but... I appreciate y-your point of view."

...

* * *

Xan sat awake while Branwen slept, wondering if he'd try once more to trance. He traced his fingers over the Moonblade. Comfort, it gave him. Comfort and dismay, all in one. His relationship with the thing was mercurial at best.

Bladesingers were an ancient and sacred cultural fixture of the elvish race, combining purity of swordsmanship with spellsong and using magic through and with their weapons. It had never been a career path that _remotely_ interested Xan, who had preferred to go unnoticed and work hard. He was hardly his family's most successful, best liked, or even remotely famous child. He was certainly never the _loudest_, and everything about the Bladesingers had seemed ridiculously... eh... _Elvish_. If that were to make any sense. Xan, it was to be said, had never enjoyed _conforming_ particularly well as a youngster.

But then the Moonblade had been recovered—or it had reappeared on its own, depending on who one asked—and abruptly it had ignored all of Xan's older siblings and cousins and aunt's and uncles... and had bonded to _him_. Much to the chagrin of everyone, and most certainly to the horror of young Xan himself. What was he to do with a _sword_?

No, that sentiment was something of a lie in expressing it thus. Xan had practiced with a sword since childhood, but never with his siblings, and never where he had to be overlooked or judged. He did it in silence, alone, just for meditation. Esmerae had considered prohibiting him from it upon learning of it, finding it 'unnatural' to the art of Enchantment. It _was_. Enchantment was soft-power. Swords had nothing to do with enchantment. Swords were... another layer of personal.

Bladesingers were wanderers, and had no locus of operation, which meant one needed to be apprenticed to one and to travel beside them. His father had been one, but then his father had also been a _conjurer_, not an enchanter. The family still used the symbol of the celestial pinto everywhere, in his honor.

"What's keepin' you up, wee man?" a sleepy cleric stirred with a yawn.

"Oh. Just... thinking about life. My life," Xan murmured.

"N' the sword?" she cannily knew.

He sighed. "And the sword."

"You had a hard day. You sure you can't sleep?"

He shook his head.

Branwen was quiet for a bit. "I know what it's like," she said at last. "To have trouble living up to your da."

He looked to her quickly, startled. He'd never discussed his father, not once. Presumably she'd guessed based on the behavior of his uncle...? He straightened. "Your father is also a cleric of Tempus," he recalled. "But as female clerics are prohibited, he must have staunchly opposed your decision to become one."

"Aye. Looking into his face, while he was trying to talk me down... seeing how mad he was and thinking, 'I'm a fekking mirror image of you, what's it matter that I'm a lass? What's it matter, when I know you met mum by getting your ass handed to you? Why can't you give me this _one thing _I know with every part of me to be right?' It hurt. I was their disgrace. Their oddball. Their _mess_. I had to fight for it, and had to fight hard, and all of them thought ill of me when I felt they oughta've seen their own selves in me. I was mad, when I left. I got over it. I knew I'd prove myself, team up with great warriors, and serve Tempus. I knew I'd stand on my own and I'd hope maybe one day when all the heat dimmed down they'd see it the same..."

"How long has it been? Have you considered writing them?"

"Ten years. My da can't read, Xan. And my mum can only do well enough by star charts and maps. Dunno how I'd get the letter to them, anyway."

He frowned. "Have you considered... visiting?"

"Yeah. Not ready to go home yet, though. Still got a great deal to prove to myself, much less to them. But maybe after this I will. Tempus approves of war, but this thing between Amn and Baldur's Gate isn't natural. He doesn't want _slaughter_. The spirit of it's all mismatched. Preventing it's the course I need to take, and that'll bring plenty of fighting on it's own to see it done. At the end'll be a victory worth telling tales about, about how men who creep behind shadows were smote by worthy warriors. Or that's how _I'll_ tell it."

Xan smiled softly. "My father died in a grand war almost two years before I was born," he told her. "Almost exactly as long as elvish women carry children. My mother saw him off the night before, and he never came back. And when I came _late _and was a sickly babe, a few unscrupulous people even tried to stain my family's name by suggesting I wasn't his. That I was rightly the son of, perhaps, another member of the family, conceived in grief. In any event, the Moonblade was presumed lost with his death, and his remains were never recovered."

Branwen listened thoughtfully. "How'd it end up getting to you then?"

"It... found us, I think. Moonblades are strange... they have a will or spirit of their own, and they only stay with one bloodline, and only for as long as it pleases them. They look for stronger and stronger potential amidst the new generations, until finally deeming the entire bloodline no longer worthy of service and going into a slumber, after which they burn to death anyone foolish enough to touch them. I have... many siblings. I have a large extended family. The Moonblade came back to us, and it did not let anyone touch it but me. _Me_. A wizard. An enchanter of frail constitution who wasn't much liked by his own immediate family members, much less the rest of the elvish community, who held much of our traditions in contempt. Me, the child rumormongers pretended was a bastard. And after that there was a whirlwind of arguing and politics and shouting and the bonding ritual was performed in a rush, and after that I could not have left it behind if I wanted to."

Branwen furrowed her brows. "You had no say in it?"

Xan hesitated. "I... I supposed I could have refused. Or I had only to refrain from ever touching it in the first place. An easy feat, you'd imagine, given how much pain it caused everyone else who tried."

"Why'd you go up and poke it, then?"

"... Because it had been my father's sword. A hero's sword. Because it was the only thing in the world remaining of him outside of a name I'd never live up to. Because it sang to me in my sleep." He sighed. "Why does anyone do anything?"

"Ah... That's a lot to live up to," she admitted. "But it seems your Moonblade's as contrary and rebellious as you are, so that ought to give you some pep."

Xan glanced back at her, and thought about this, and then smirked. "I never thought about that. I never thought about... it's _personality, _or whether it had one, outside of questioning its judgement. I suppose I just thought of them as _Moonblades_, and didn't think whether one might be a shade different from another."

"Aren't you _bonded_ to it spiritually? Does it _think_?"

"Sometimes... It _feels. _And on the rare occasion it feels anything strong, the sensation is overwhelming. It has not acted autonomously since before I was bonded to it, but _then_ it was very angry at the family's supposition that I had tampered with it, and it was all I could do to cower as it _displayed_ its anger to them. Would it surprise you to hear I am sort of... cautious in examining it? It _unnerves _me. Unnerves and comforts, simultaneously, and weighs me down _and_ makes me feel confident. I wrestle with it, and with not knowing whether the emotions I feel are _natural_ or not. It is my _familiar_... and yet it is an anathema to me."

"You are superstitious and shy about studying the ins and outs of your own permanently bonded sword, which has gotten you out of more stews than one, when you are a curious wizard, and when you will _die_ if you somehow lose it? _Xan_." She raised a hand to cuff him gently. "What is that? _Silly_. _Learn_ it. I don't just mean swordsmanship, and how to make it's magic work... You're an _enchanter_. So talk to it, maybe."

He didn't know if he could. He hadn't known if he'd ever wanted to. So much vigor and respect he'd thrown into deserving this sword, while at the same time _hating_ it for implicitly setting these expectations he and everyone else knew he couldn't meet, and which they were all already resigned to blaming him for. So many years he'd resented it for drawing his attention from his studies for _nothing_ (and once in awhile resented his studies from drawing attention from _it)_.

It hadn't been for nothing. Somehow it was easier to just _need_ the weapon, now. Away from Evereska. Away from the shadow of the past. He had left home before, on other missions, often for months at a time. But this was the first he had ever sat in a tent with a human at his side, and known how badly he actually relied on and needed and cared about it. _Wanted_ it. _Wanted_ to be able to pull off more stunts like he'd just pulled. Wanted to grow into this second, diametrically opposed _facet_ which it gave him. Enchantment was soft. Swordsmanship was sharp. Enchantment was clever, deceptive, sensuous. Swordsmanship was unconscious action. He traced thoughtfully down the blade.

"You said the Moonblades look for something like strength or potential in new wielders. So they have something they _want_, or aspire to, right? Is there anything they fear?"

Xan blinked at the question. "Being _profaned_," he knew, without having to speculate, and then felt a curious sort of nostalgic dread he by rights needed to attribute to the sword itself.

"Maybe there was a real good reason it picked you," Branwen supposed. "Maybe it wanted to _coax out_ the potential, or maybe it _wanted_ a clever wizard who never took things at face value. Something right awful must have happened to your da if his body was never found. And it was bonded to him, so maybe now it has something to prove same as you do. Perhaps something awful happened to it, too." Abruptly, she changed the topic, and he was glad for it: "Is your mother sweet to you?"

"My mother is a saint," Xan answered. "She let me walk my own path and she was why I got away with so much. She... seemed to understand, a little, how estranged I always felt. Or, at least, she was okay with not understanding. She noticed my affiliation with magic, brought me to be educated, and secured my apprenticeship. I owe her a great deal and, despite what I yelled at my uncle, I did not mean to cause her grief."

"Will she like me?"

"I... I think so. I hope so. But if anything does go awry, I still love you, and I think that will matter to her."

Branwen was quiet for a bit. "Did you _want_ to meet my family?"

"Yes." He watched her appreciatively. "Even if they have nothing good to say of me. I would like to see them at least once."

Branwen was quiet a pause. "Suppose I do have to go back and face them, then."

He understood her trepidation, and settled his Moonblade down that he might lie with her. She hugged him, and kissed him, and they nestled into one another for the night.

...

* * *

With the Doomsayer, I definitely wanted to channel some of how difficult the encounter actually was in game mixed with the helplessness one feels in BG2 upon encountering Golems/Liches/Whatever if one hasn't yet encountered sufficiently powerful magical weapons to even touch them. Also Xan having to tank the Doomsayer for a few blows is something that totally happened in my play-through. He only actually got hit once, and it took him straight to 1 HP. A critical would have splattered him outright!


	42. Explaining Some Things

_**Explaining Some Things**_

...

* * *

Edwin watched as Imoen spoke with the halfling 'leader' (or that was what he seemed to be; it was hard to say what denoted 'status' in this mud-hole), whilst all three rangers growled and paced about in the dirt some distance away, apparently trying to make sense of badly occluded prints. The whole party looked like awkward fools bumbling about a kindergarten, barking shins and hitting heads on all manner of low-lying object. The berserkers were the worst offenders, but Edwin himself, Xzar, and Kivan were all tall even compared to Heartlands men. Imoen, though still a full head and shoulders taller than the halflings, was the only one who looked at place in her surroundings.

But then he was starting to think she would seem at place _anywhere_, such as amidst a pack of gnolls or at an ancient gathering of evil lindwurm. She was like a little chameleon; she could turn any color to blend in, and the people would immediately like her. Tch.

"So," she said upon returning to his side, "don't tell Aegis, but the temple and wine cellar for the entire community's vineyards are... _the same building_. Like, the biggest building in town! And they don't have an inn and we're a little big for one family to take in for the night, and we should never ever allow Aegis to camp anywhere with so many kegs, sooo I told the mayor we'd just rough it and pitch our tents till the job's done."

_Ha._ "My lips are sealed," he drawled. "Seeing as night is coming and we will not be going anywhere until our party members have finished their consultation with the soil, I was thinking you and I might as well settle in. You could snatch a bottle from the aforementioned temple for us—and by snatch, I mean 'get quickly;' you still need to pay for it like a normal, contributing member of society—and we could turn to studying."

"Great idea! You can teach me to cast _Fireball_!"

Edwin glanced down at her, unmoved. "No matter how long you wheedle, Kwefai, the answer to that is still 'no' for now."

"_For now_! Well, maybe we could have a heart-to-heart later...? We could go out by the bluffs, those are safe enough; we could even watch the sunrise."

"'Heart-to-heart.' Is that an idiom?"

"It, um, means an 'earnest conversation about personal topics.'"

He pressed his lips together and eyed her, because he knew well where this would likely go. "Perhaps another time." But then he noticed her glance towards Xzar, and recalled that there were in fact numerous issues he'd declined raising with her because they were better left unheard by Mad Zhents. Particularly in light of recent events. Hmm.

"What do you think he's thinking?" she puzzled. The necromancer—who probably oughtn't to have been left unsupervised in a town of so many child-sized individuals—was standing in the middle of the square looking to and fro as if caught between terror and entrail-curdling delight, with his fingers curled at his mouth.

"Him?" Edwin shuttered his eyes. "Given his present location, he is thinking about Montaron's entire extended family, reduced to food groups and spell components. Why?"

"Ewww...! Evil minds must think alike or something, I'd have never guessed that, nope."

"What? Excuse me, I'm 'Evil?"

She leaned back from him and put her hands on her hips as if conducting a visual inspection of him. He raised a brow, but she held off answering for long enough to make the silence awkward. He shifted uncomfortably under such scrutiny, but then saw a slow and playful grin was growing upon her countenance. "You have your days," she finally quipped.

He muttered something incoherent even unto himself but which was probably about how the sentiment was mutual, and then she had dragged him off by the arm.

And the day might have ended as simply as that, with Imoen fetching the wine and with Edwin (being the responsible adult) backtracking to tell Aegis where they'd be. _Might have._ But while he waited outside the temple for Imoen to make up her mind on what she'd like to try, a rush of footsteps approached him, and he turned with a spell already at his fingers just in time to be...

...hugged with unnatural enthusiasm about the waist...?

"Eddie! Long time no see!"

...

* * *

An emasculated shriek of terror warned Imoen that something had gone horribly and hilariously wrong, so she conveniently forgot to pay for the wine she'd been perusing and bolted out the front door. There stood Edwin, cringing with his arms clutched feebly to his chest, and a familiar purple-garbed halfling affixed to him.

"_Help me_...!" he whispered urgently to her. "It's _touching me...!_"

"Alora!" Imoen squealed.

"Imoen!" Alora half-released him ('almost!' Edwin could be seen to think) that she might reply. "Gosh golly gosh! Whaddathe odds, runnin' into my bestest friends here of all places? That's good luck it is!"

Imoen came up to grin at the little lady (and to push Edwin back a few paces, so that Alora simply had to let go of him). "What happened to you?" the taller thief asked. "You done disappeared on us!"

"It wasn't me! I didn't mean to! You know, I think it was that mean old nasty elf who was looking for you. He charmed me! You know, the one who likes purple but doesn't _get_ purple at _all?"_ She heaved a sigh. "Purple is a _happy_ color, as anyone knows, and he's just all frowny frowny and 'eeeek!' all the time...!"

Edwin had begun quietly casting a dimension door.

"Xan? Oh yeah, he's the _worst_," Imoen agreed with a wink. Alora extend a hand, and Imoen reached down to shake it, and the two of them made up an awesome secret handshake right then and there. It would have done a thieves' guild proud, and they totally synchronized it. "So what's my fellow bestest best thief south of Waterdeep doing in Gullykin?"

"_Wellllll_!" Alora drawled with a flick of her adorably bouncy hair. "_I_ just heard that there's a bunch of sparkly warklies underneath these old Firewine runes! So I came to help get em out, and—wouldn't you know it!—that place was trapped from top to bottom! Had all these little cute cubby holes with silly kobolds hiding in them too, hehe! It took me like, a _whole day_ to get through, and then this meal old smelly ogre was shooting lightning bolts at me, yelling about where all the_ kobolds_ had gone!"

"Wow, _really_?"

"Really-really! I tried to tell him they'd packed up after tea and left for the Woods of Sharp Teeth, on account of the fishing's improved there lately, but he wouldn't believe me! And I had to scram."

Edwin stopped casting, looked like he hated himself, took a deep breath, and then winced down at the exuberant halfling. "Alora, dear... you mean to say that you know how to get into the ruins... and you have already cleared a way through them...?"

"Huh? 'Already'? Wow! Are you guys wanting to go down there too? Well, you're a little tall and the quarters are kinda tight... but I bet I could help if I led the way! Hey, maybe you can get rid of that mean old ogre, too! Cause I betcha," she put her hands on her hips and nodded sagely to herself, "he's gonna put up a big old nasty fight."

Edwin looked sadly to Imoen, who was nearly bawling with laughter over how this was developing.

"Well?" Alora asked, and for the first time since they'd met her she actually looked a little forlorn, as if she feared they'd walk away.

"I think," Imoen decided conspiratorially as she leaned closer to Alora's ear, "this sounds like the start of a _fantastic partnership."_

Alora nearly vibrated apart into an explosion of butterflies and sunshine. "_Yay...!_" she squeaked past overwhelming enthusiasm. Then, because she was nearly turning blue in the face, Edwin reached down and patted her to remind her to breathe. She did so, steadying herself on him with a thanks, and then she pointed off in a direction. "I'll get my things!" And with that she was gone.

Imoen sidled up against Edwin. Edwin put Imoen between himself and the direction Alora had went in, and peered around her as if he were hiding himself there. "Ye gods, what have we done? Let us be gone before she returns. We'll... we'll just warn your sister, she is the 'leader' and she can be the one to deal with... _this_!"

"Say," Imoen grinned at him, "has Xzar ever properly met Alora? We should introduce them!"

Edwin reacted with immediate disapproval: "He might _hurt_ her!"

Imoen lifted a brow.

Edwin thought about what he'd just said, winced, and then dropped his shoulders, covered his face with both hands, and shook his head miserably. "I don't know what's the matter with me."

"It's official! Where's the town crier? The Thayvian likes cute things!"

...

* * *

They made a picnic at the bluffs, out of sight of most of the world and with the setting sun and oceans of treetops spread out before them. Edwin took the wine she offered him gratefully and uncorked it, and took a swig right from the bottle. Imoen grinned to herself as she fished out cups. He glanced at the lable, sighed contentedly, and then leaned over to pull them both a goblet as she produced them.

"This was stolen, wasn't it," was the first thing he said once he'd leaned back and relaxed a little from all that purple-induced excitement. It wasn't a question.

"Ha! How'd you know?"

"Because I asked you to pay for it," he retorted. "So of course you had to do the very opposite, as it is your habit to be contrary on principle."

"Now hold your horses there! You didn't _ask _me to pay for the wine. You _told_ me to pay for it. Those are very different."

He glanced at her. "You made it effortless for me to manipulate your actions to illegal ends. Consider whether or not you really wish to give me that sort of power." He sipped the wine. "Or anyone."

She shrugged and grinned. "On the way to Beregost you took issue with my thieving ways. Why would _you_ get me to nick the wine?"

"So I could lecture the Monkey about it, naturally."

She stuck out her tongue at him. "You've helped me pawn off my loot before."

"It is a matter of _from whom _and _why_. You once robbed a caravan of gamblers, shady hedge-wizards, and all matter of shiftless freeloader; and your haul directly benefited yourself and the party. Here you robbed dirt farmers of the sweat of their brow, in their god's own temple, on a casual whim."

Imoen squinted at him. "So when you put it that way it was totally horrible of me, and I'm going to pay for it now as soon as we get back. But you sound _more_ peeved that I expended an illegal activity—as if I had a quota of them or something—that negatively impacted a regional economy without benefiting myself."

He smirked. "Something like that."

"Says the man who—_apparently—_stole all my potions of Insight."

Edwin jumped, bristled, and then looked for all the world like someone had caught him with a hand in a cookie jar.

"Now I'm not going to ask what happened to them, nor inquire why they disappeared _immediately_ after the Elminster's Hat incident...! I only thought to broach the topic because at least _one_ of those was old Mr. G's, and I figured the spell for it might be written up somewhere next to _Intellect of the Scholar._" She went to pull out her/Gorion's spellbook.

Edwin pouted crossly, but then suddenly settled down and smiled. "You know, I think that would be a _perfect_ expenditure of your time, rather than whining about 'Fireball' spells."

"What...? _Me_? Oh no, I haven't even-"

"Yes, yes, the Monkey managed to learn to cast _Intellect of the Scholar_ in a surprisingly short frame of time-"

"-I never mastered that spell! I never wrote it down! I prepared it from your stuff! You'd have to work the new spell out first for me to even-"

"Nonsense! The old Harper was your first mentor and seems to have smuggled you more of your fundamentals than one might initially have presumed was possible. You are more familiar with his style than you realize, and working to translate his labor when you already have the gist of the outcome would be an excellent exercise for you. Particularly with me on hand to assist... It will give you some appreciation for these large gulfs of work you seek to skip...!"

"That sounds _exhaustificating _and-"

"Oh, indeed, it could entail many nights curled up about a fire with a book and some wine; distracting one-another with arguments about the etymology of _'exhaustificating' _and debating whether it should be entrusted to a linguist somewhere for posterity..."

"How... how do you manage to get me to agree to _homework_?" Imoen sputtered. "How do you do it? No one can get me to agree to homework. No one, ever, in the whole history of _forever_."

He grinned slyly, and flicked a hand. "It's a date, then."

Imoen slumped, disbelieving. She eyed her wine suspiciously, and then glared at him. "I'm still a thief, by the way. You didn't win that one, Mr. Son of a Person Who Runs a Province."

"What is this? Do I _need_ to be, to respect laws? You know the price for stealing a loaf of bread—in most countries—is the cutting off of the thieving hand, yes?"

Imoen smiled sweetly. "That's only if they _catch_ ya...!" Edwin scowled. "Besides that always sounded counterproductive to me. If you want less thieves and beggars, your people really do need their hands. And jobs."

"Ehm, I'm not sure you realize how easily that could segue into another conversation about the societal functions of slavery..." he discerned.

"Oh. point. Wait, would you steal from slaves?" she asked.

"...In legal terms, in most states worth discussing, anything which belongs to a slave belongs to his or her master."

"Right, but you just talked about the people of Gullykin as if they had the_ right_ not to have their things taken from them because they'd _earned_ them. How do you reconcile that with taking away peoples' freedom? You'd have to respect your own slaves."

Edwin eyed her for a long moment. "The people of Gullykin belong to a civilization which imposes a structure, and structure is something I can respect. As for Thay? Slaves come in two kinds. There are those who cannot afford themselves, and there are those who do not _try_. The former is more valuable in the longterm."

"Well _that_ was a tremendous way to not answer the question."

He smiled thinly and offered nothing further. She sighed at him and looked away, disappointed. He watched her for a moment, and then gathered up his robes with one hand and siddled closer to her. She glanced up. "Kwefai, I think I inadvertently _caused_ that ill topic change whilst convincing myself I was attempting to prevent it. I could have just not said what 'jobs' reminded me of."

Imoen smiled a bit. "How are we so different?" she asked. He blinked at her. "I mean, people in general, from any place. We're all basically the same, yeah? We cry the same, we laugh the same. How is it you can't convince me social order is important, and I can't convince you slavery is evil?"

"The Monkey cannot even convince me that _friends_ are a good thing," he muttered.

"Exactly! See? That's what I mean. Why is that something we don't all just take for granted: friends are a good thing."

He smiled at her in a way that actually reached his eyes, but then looked off at nothing and his expression turned somber. After a bit he tilted his head to the side and looked down at her with surprising earnestness. "You were raised by a man you love, in the belief that people are genuine, and that good and evil are as simple as freedom and oppression. You have no concept of the fact that there are places in the world where good fathers keep children safe and sound by warning them about the dangers lurking behind every smile, and where good and evil are a matter of whether one attends to or neglects one's responsibilities to one's own."

Imoen frowned thoughtfully.

"It took me months of living here to understand I could interpret your actions as genuine. _That long_ to even _entertain_ the notion that you might truly consider 'affability' to be a virtue and yet not have civilization collapse about your ears. You smile a little, as if _I _am a fool, I know." He shook his head slightly, beseeching her to listen. "But from the time I turned five, I had to survive on my own for most of the year. We could only go home on breaks. And so all that matters to the parents of magechildren is: 'How else can I help? Have I done enough? Are they ready? Will they make it?' In the end, wizards in Thay stand on their own two feet, or not at all. And all any parent can do is _prepare_ them."

His Monkey looked down and was quiet for a short while, contemplating this with an atypical lack of witticisms or chatter. He watched her for a bit, to make sure he had not somehow hurt or upset her. After a bit she cleared her throat and lifted her head to ask: "Do you not like the people here?"

Edwin glanced up and took a thoughtful breath of air as he determined the answer to that. "Without factoring in matters of patriotism, it is... still difficult for me to hold patience with those whom I perceive as not having _proven_ themselves."

"Do you like me the way _I _am? Or are there things you suppose you'd need to fix?"

He looked back to her, perplexed. "There is only one way in which I like you, and that is exactly the way in which you are. As for 'fixes,' I am still holding out hope we can decrease your cake intake to a single pound of confectionery material a day. But, eh, the odds may not be in my favor on that one, so I am braced for either outcome."

All mirth dripped from her face, and she looked up at him with eyes that watered such that he was sure he had done something far worse than insult her weight. But before he could ask what had happened, she sat up and threw her arms around his neck and clung to him fiercely.

"I do not believe I did anything to deserve this." She squeezed him. He hesitated, and then thought about Lasala, and bandits, and then slowly set his wine down and pulled her into him with both arms. And pressed his face into her hair. Imoens-just-the-way-Imoens-were were something of a rare commodity, after all. He took a deep breath, and pet her, and then lifted his chin to make inquiry: "Your question goes both ways. What would _you_ 'fix' of me?"

She pulled back a little, and smiled up at him with damp cheeks. "I'd make you laugh more," she told him, and then beamed at his incredulous reaction. "I like when you're happy. You could lose every bit of magic you'd ever had, and I'd still love wrestling smiles out of you."

"...I'd not be smiling much under such circumstances."

"Pfft, _I'd_ get ya to. I've my ways!"

"You only _started_ talking to me in the first place because of magic. You would have me believe that you'd still be here if I were to somehow spontaneously lose the Art?"

"How do you not remember you _did _lose your Art once already?" He stiffened. She tapped his nose with a fae grin. "Yup! I spent a week smothering you into my bosom every night because you were scared of the hugeness of a universe you suddenly had no control over, and never left you once, so _there_." But then she leaned her temple to his with a conspiratorial grin and a tug of his beard. "I can say that, _and_ still agree you're ingenuous and look amazingly sexy whilst silhouetted in fire and bombarding an encroaching enemy army. These things aren't mutually exclusive, ya know."

He stared at her uncertainly for a long moment, and then shook his head and answered quietly: "... On any given day, I have utterly no idea what to do with you."

"Teach me _Fireball_! Or, no wait, buy me pie!" she gleed. "That's the fee for my protection racket! Fail to pay and the Alora'll getcha!"

"That's all you'll charge in exchange for this essential service?! What flavor? Pumpkin? Fruit? Shepherd's? Tell me and I shall make a note to stash two or three or seven in easy-to-reach locations, should she suddenly pop out of the woodwork again!" Then a look of horror crossed his face, and he turned about to survey the surrounding landscape.

Imoen burst out laughing, because he was afraid he'd jinxed himself. Fortunately for him, no Aloras were lurking nearby in the tall grass. She was a better thief than a tracker...!

...

* * *

"_Accodatu vereminum_," Gorion enunciated, and with that the portal flared to light and the surface shimmered as if made of blue velvet and stars.

Tinesife stepped back a pace but then nodded to himself. "Well. It works then."

Tallix glanced over at Mushroom boy and shook her head exasperatedly. She was packing up the last of their gear, and threw Gorion's pack to him as she came up to join him. "Well, we did as we said we would. This is goodbye, I 'spose?"

Tinesife bobbed his head, glad to be rid of them, but then turned as Gorion came up to him and presented him with a piece of parchment. "I've written the trigger phrase down," the magus said. "Do you wish to take any notes of your own?"

Mushroom boy blushed and then shook his head quickly and took the paper and stared at it blankly. After a much too long pause, he abruptly blurted: "Thank you."

"Take care of yourself," Gorion advised with a gentle pat on his shoulder. "And do apologize on my behalf to your poor Violet Fungi and to any other innocent organisms whom were hurt in my quickness to defend myself. I'm afraid we 'graverobbers' sometimes act first and ask questions later, our of... survival instinct."

Tinesife blushed more, cleared his throat and shooed them off.

Gorion offered his arm to Tallix, who wrinkled a bemused brow at him before looping her hand about his elbow. "We run into a trap straight-aways, yer gonna wish I went through ahead o ye."

"I always thought it was only ethical that a wizard should be the first to test his own portals," he mused as he patted her fingers. "Ensured he was really certain about the integrity of their construction, and cared about his traveling companions."

"Tch, where d'ye get these ideas, ye silly stork? Always send a rat on a string through first, and then bring it back the other way. Always. It comes back with its organs intact, then yer good to follow."

"Nh. Occasionally I feel like a rat on a string. Shall we?"

They stepped through.

...

* * *

"So, ehm," Edwin began conversationally once Imoen had stopped laughing the both of them had regained their drinks and were making a picnic of cheese and bread purchased in Beregost. "I drew a Four of Nice recently."

Imoen glanced up with a grin. "I don't believe you. Let me see." He had expected that, gathered up a make-believe deck of cards, inspected them, and then 'handed' them to her. She mimed taking them, and looked through them with an impressed expression. "Wow. A three _and_ a four...!"

"Yes, and it compels me remind you that you wished to speak with me about what your father recently divulged to you." He leaned forward to take the pretend cards when she offered them, because somehow that only made sense. "You are... the blood daughter of some extended family relation?"

"Oh!" She suddenly looked nervous. "Yeah, apparently the Winthrop family is really big—or_ was_, before the vampire debacle that made my da famous. He's from the line that held the whole Duchy, and my real mom was from the line that holds the Barony of Twins."

"Where is this land they preside over?"

"Up in what we call the northeastern frontier, even if it's only 'eastern' for people who've lived on the coast their whole lives. It's kinda like _just before_ the Silvery Marches, about the river Surbin, I think? Sorry, geography was always Aegis' thing, not mine. Anyway, they pay homage to Neverwinter. I think most of them are big people like my dad, except for there was an elf wizard who married into the Twins family on one side, and he built two Silver Towers where a person can study spellcraft, and his decedents are a little bit smaller, like me, and sometimes have a knack for magic. Da reckons that's where I got it from."

"You have quite a bit more than a 'knack' for magic," the Thayvian mused. "Did he give this elf-founder a name?"

"No, but we can probably look that sort of thing up in Baldur's Gate. It's been enough years to be history by now, and there are some folk stories about the family, even."

"Strange he did not tell you this earlier in life, given your curiousity on the topic and its relative innocuousness. You might have liked to hear stories about what 'heroes' and elves you are allegedly related to."

"Well... maybe he just wanted to protect me from feeling unwanted. On account of what my mom tried to do to me. He even gave me her name, swappin' it in as my middle name. 'Imoen Alianna Winthrop.'"

Edwin glanced back to her. "She tried, if I recall, 'to sacrifice you to a dark god' at birth. Imoen..." he hesitated, and then chose his words delicately. "I do not wish to alarm you, and this is only speculation, but... do you see... any parallels here? An adventurer adopting a girl child twenty years ago, electing to rear her in Candlekeep, and hiding from her important information about her origins...?"

Imoen looked up at him, and seemed glum about more than just names. Her half-hearted smile was twitching, as if something were threatening to burst from her. {Can I tell you a secret?} she asked, and her voice was small.

{I should hope so. You know plenty of _mine_...}

{I'm seeing dead people's souls floating above their bodies.}

His gaze riveted on her.

{It started at High Hedge when I dreamed you'd die if I didn't go back to the party, and I saw a vision of Aegis as a Giant Black Skeleton who was plowing the land and burying everyone's Last Breath.} She raked her hands through her hair. {Only, with you kidnapping me directly afterwards, and all the chaos and arguing and near-dying, I never got a chance to talk to anyone about it. I mean I tried to talk to you, but you were so upset about your mother you wouldn't talk to me, and then, it kinda slipped my mine for awhile. But-but then there are two halfling kid souls floating around in the middle of Gullykin, and I just got this big plastic smile on my face and didn't say a word, but—ha—totally freaked out...!}

Edwin said nothing.

Imoen was quiet for a bit, and hugged her knees. {I don't think Aegis can see them,} she added quickly, at last. {I don't think she and I work the same, not at all. She's _always_ been weird. But for me there's been _nothing_, nothing until I got too far away from her, and then all of a sudden I realized I'd never been separated from her since we were babies, and I got this horrible, horrible, horrible feeling- and-and-and now I think: what if that's why? What if they put us together not just because they both had the same bright idea about where to raise evil death god babies, but because somehow, something about her was protecting me from it? Gorion named her _Aegis_. That means 'divine shield.' That's not a common name. My name just means 'maiden.'}

{... I would ask you why you have not brought this up with her... but she still keeps-}

{-_Xzar_ at her side!} Imoen said exactly what he was thinking. {And what scares me the most is I think _he already knows_, or, at least, suspects! I think he guessed it way, way, way before I knew anything was wrong. If he always knew what Aegis was, that makes sense, doesn't it? He keeps calling me "Aegis' Sister." And he let me steal his spell book, repeatedly, and took no offense whatsoever. If I am... if she is... then we really are _sisters_, aren't we?}

He was quiet for a moment, still digesting the deluge she'd given them both. Then he got up on his knees, and reached out to her and took her face between his hands. There were tears. He brushed them aside, and ran a thumb over her brow and temple and hair. She started shaking, because apparently she had tucked all of this away inside herself and placed a cork upon it for quite some time; but then she surprised him in turning her head away. "Why do you cringe from me? Do you not think I intend to help you?"

She laughed almost spastically. "The way you offered Thay's help to Ae?"

He grit his teeth for a moment and then coxed her chin back so she'd look at him. "_No." _He smoothed pink out of her face, and away from red-rimmed eyes. "Though, for the record, I wish an essay submitted for my perusal about why do you only ever doubt me when the ball is in _my_ court and _you_ are the one who feels you cannot control your universe."

"I-I- I just...!"

"You just aren't _perfect_, silly fool, and no one is. Come here. As you are. Come _here_, Kwefai..." She let him embrace her (finally), and he pulled her head to his collar. "There. ...Hush now. Or... or well—_never mind_—cry it out, I suppose. Whatever is best... I am no expert." She choked a giggle into him amid her sobs, and he held her tightly again.

"Y-you really _did_ draw a Four of Nice...?"

"And it mocks me, I assure you, sitting there all smug and useless beside the Royal Flush of Burn-Everything-To-The-Ground."

"S'not useless. S'perfect..."

{Mn. Then, believing in that, recall that I am here of my own volition, now. That—because I wished to apprentice you—I elected to return to help you and, by proxy, your sister and party. Do not insult me by pretending I should suddenly regret that. Assessing how to help _her_ was already on our plate—yours and mine. This newest revelation changes nothing except to make it more personal.} She took a deep breath and pulled back an inch to look at him uncertainly. He rested a finger beneath her chin, and lowered his voice. {Because rest assured: the last place I intend to see _you_ is on a Necromancer's _plate_.}

She searched his face for a long moment and then closed her eyes and took another deep breath. He drew her forward and pressed his mouth to her hairline. She wrapped both her hands around one of his. He squeezed and then brought her arms up around his back.

"Come here again," he requested. "Tell me, does anyone else know of this insight you've had?"

"Um. Kivan might," Imoen speculated. "Something's off about him. I think having his soulmate dead gives him some peculiar insight into the whole matter. Poor thing."

"What about Xan?"

"You're the only one I've ever told about my... my mom. So no one has enough information to jump to any conclusions _logically_... If anyone knows, it'd only be because of very unusual reasons. Like whatever's wrong with Xzar. Hey, d'you think it's odd we met him and Montaron like... less than a _day_ after losing Mr. G?"

"_That_ short a timeframe?" Edwin shuttered his eyes. "No, that sounds far too perfect to be coincidence. Let me tell you what I have deduced of Xzar's history, and you can walk me through the logistics of how that fateful ambush occurred."

"You know something of him?"

"He divulged he is half cleric, did he not? There are only so many circles of arcane practitioners who would think to seriously blend their work with clerical magic, and _succeed_. And there _was_ such a Zhentish Coven of this repute, old and secretive. If my guess is correct, he is one of only two survivors of a circle that titled themselves 'True Necromancers' or 'White Necromancers.' The other survivor is presently a guest of Thay."

Imoen straightened, thinking."A guest? An _actual_ guest, or...?"

"Eh? Oh. An _actual _guest. Priests of Sobek extended him sanctuary during the bloody aftermath of the Time of Troubles, ten years ago. He repaid them with enough secrets to check Sasz'Tam. The whole thing is wrapped up in secrets and politics, and the only reason I happen to have this seemingly random knowledge on the subject is because Sobek is a very popular deity in Surthay, as a significant mount of the province is built on or beside marshland."

"Then Xzar isn't just some random crazy Zhent wizard..."

"If he is as I suspect, he is one of the world's last remaining experts on anything like Aegis. For him to have arrived on the eave of Gorion's death suggests someone planned it that way. They knew or predicted Gorion would die, and yet ensured Aegis passed immediately into the keeping of that specific necromancer. I would not pin Xzar as the architect of something so smoothly executed; not _quite_. He is cunning, but perhaps too deranged."

"Wouldn't it have been the Horned Man?"

"No, Aegis is firmly certain the Horned Man was another Bhaalspawn, and that he intended to kill her then and there. He also had magical assistance, which did not avail him in finding her in the forest later on. So it would not surprise me to learn that Xzar has been warding her against divination while she sleeps since he met you, keeping the Horned Man from determining where she had gone for months until he was too wrapped up in other matters to pursue. It would explain why he was adamant about marking her with a _Protection Against Evil _before parting ways with us to report back to his 'superiors.' No, Xzar was sent to thwart _him_ and to keep _her_ alive. The question is, for how long, and for which reason? Did they share Gorion's intentions, or did they benefit from getting him out the way? Likely the latter, if he was as decent a man as you and Aegis believe. These sorts of games only end one of two ways: Divinity or Ritual Sacrifice."

"Well, Ae's not going to be happy with _either,_" Imoen assessed. "But she still trusts Xzar. For her own personal reasons..."

"To be honest _we also_ require his expertise for the time being, because he knows more about what we're up against and what the rules of this game are than anyone else. The trick is figuring out precisely when he intends to act, and to outplay him. No easy feat, especially considering how he seems to move by whim and to have six or seven alternate ideas available to him at any moment in time. Just do not mistake him for being anywhere _near_ as confused as he pretends to be. His ability to pass himself off as a harmless fool is very nearly miraculous, when he is demonstrably proven to be anything _but_."

"What's the goal of the Ritual Sacrifice ending?"

"We can only guess. If we knew, for example, what your birth mother had intended to do with _you_, we might be better prepared to guess what Xzar plans to do with Aegis. Or, then again, they could have entirely different goals. You were but a child, newly brought into this world, and you seem to have few of your siblings' morbid or bloodthirsty traits. Aegis is an adult, and has has had acute... 'symptoms.'"

Imoen frowned, her thoughts turning inward. Then she looked up to him. "I've a guess on what Xzar's about."

"Present it."

"Well you mentioned Deathstalkers want their god back. And, the prophecy about Bhaal, have you ever actually heard it? It says there will be a score of mortal progeny. Whether it means a _literal _score, or whether its using the word to mean 'lots,' just think about it... what do you get when you have 'lots' of heirs to, say, the throne to a kingdom?"

"... A succession crisis. With everyone backing a different player."

"And if you're the God of Murder, what's the most logical way for your Kids to resolve that succession crisis?" Imoen asked.

"Have them thin their own numbers," Edwin growled. "Whatever Xzar intends, then, he will wait until the Horned Man is dead to act, and he may even ensure that Aegis is the one who kills him. If she is indeed his piece on this playing field, you will be endangered in that same time frame. Whether or not he confirms your lineage, he at least _suspects_ it."

"That gives us more than what we started with."

"It does." He thought about what had been said and revealed. "Have I ever previously complimented your intelligence?"

"... You know, I can't remember if you've _ever complimented me_..."

"... I... suppose I shall have to... rectify that eventually..."

"'Eventually?'"

"Well, I only tease you about cakes because I _do_ like your, ehm, figure... so..."

"... That... that was a nice... _attempt_ at a compliment."

"We should speak of gods, power, and magic again, I am better at that."

She kissed him anyway. "Team?" She lifted a hand. He glanced at it, and then clasped it.

"Team."

A high-pitched voice interrupted them: "Awwww! You guys are so _kyute_!"

Imoen fell over with a squawk and Edwin burst out with at least half a dozen (hastily retracted) curses. Either Alora was a better tracker than previously presumed, or else Kivan was lurking somewhere around and had sent her ahead to interrupt them. Probably as punishment for having been forced into meeting her, actually.

...

* * *

_-The Fabulous Foster Father Flashbacks Return! (I will not be using Italics for the whole of them anymore.) -_

Gorion stepped through herb shop until he came upon the piles of freshly dried flower petals for cooking. There were rose petals, lavender, chrysanthemum... ah! Chamomile. He looped his other groceries over his elbow, and sifted through the whole blossoms, picking out generous helpings of fragrant yellow.

A familiar man's voice crept up behind him: "Let's see. Knappies, goats milk, fresh fruit and soft veggies. Hmm. Not the usual staple for adventuring provisions, is it?"

Gorion, who was starting to get used to being surprised by old friends and distant relations whilst grocery shopping, slowly turned about. He blinked quietly at a nondescript hooded man in the corner of the shop, and then frowned. "Griswold Winthrop?"

How on Chauntea's wide world could someone so enormous hide in plain sight so well? The ranger gave a barely perceptible nod.

Gorion straightened cautiously, but after dealing with Jaheira and Tallix this was somehow less threatening. "Do you want something?"

"A private word with ye."

"How did you find me?"

"I been keeping tabs on ye from afar since you slipped the shadow plane." Gorion furrowed his brow. "Don't look so surprised. Ya've seen me tail shadow demons in the middle of the night, and ye think a little smoke bomb would throw me off long?"

Did he know about Tallix? No, that would likely have been too damning not to mention. "... Jaheira and Khalid both asked of you my location."

"It was extremely obvious why you didn't want to be found just yet. And we should be speaking someplace quieter."

That startled Gorion, and he watched as Winthrop righted himself and headed out the door. Damned to the hells these cloaked and hooded types, he and Tallix both. The wizard muttered a prayer to Oghma, and then paid for the chamomile and pursued. Winthrop led him away from the market, and to a quieter area dotted with trees behind a few small inns and a restaurant.

"If you had some idea of my whereabouts," he called as he caught up with the ranger, "then why did you tell no one?"

Winthrop looked back to him. "I answered that question."

"No, I knew why our superiors sent you with me; because your portfolio equipped you to spot corruption, and my task was expected to be difficult on me. When I walked out of there, _you_ ought to have been the first to sound alarm bells."

"Oh, aye? Ya know, it's maddeningly like ye to be stuck in yer own head." He paced about, checking the walls and trees for eavesdroppers to ensure they were alone. "Ever think you weren't the only one who had a crisis of faith over what we were sent to do? In case you didn't notice, Lullorin and I had been sent by the same organization, and she pulled the wool over my eyes as well."

Gorion narrowed his eyes. "Oh. Well. When you put it that way." Very abruptly he trusted this ranger not at all. Perhaps Tallix and Lullorin were not the only 'party members' whose origins he ought to have examined more closely.

"I'm serious," the Ranger whirled towards him. "I tracked you down. I saw what you were doing, with my own eyes. But she was just a _baby_. Ya think I wanted to pass judgement on that?"

"You forget I know your sad background story involved some similarly difficult decisions in which 'judgement' did indeed need to be passed."

"... My sisters were undead. That's a mite different."

Gorion eyed him, and said nothing.

"Don't look at me like that, you daft feathered idiot, sneering like that. I asked them not to send ye in there anymore, and you—you feelin' like ya had something to prove to the gods or karma or what have you—you kept overullin' me and taking the helm on every mission regardless. I knew full well you were crumblin' and warned em, and I warned you. I started counting the lies you told to people. The stories you started mixin' together. You realize how many nights I helped you to bed on account of you drank away the pain of it?"

There was some measure of truth in that. Not enough to make him lower his guard. "What do you want, Winthrop?"

"You little prick; You've already_ dismissed_ me. Why do you think yourself an excellent judge of character when you've been so fekking wrong?" He satisfied himself that they were not being spied on, and turned back to Gorion. "But you came clean with Khelben in the end, din ye? Yah. I'm satisfied my job there was done."

"What do you _want?" T_his person—who claimed to have been tracking him and counting his lies—had not tacked on any reference to 'coming clean' with Jaheira, suggesting his knowledge was not as complete as he pretended.

He snorted. "Need you to cast a divination spell for me. Have the scroll for it."

This was not the form of entreaty Gorion had anticipated. "There are other wizards in the world, and you have a very large network of contacts."

"I came to ye very specifically for this. Trust me, would not have bothered ye otherwise. "

"And what exactly _do_ you need me for?"

"Just got back from up north. Family trouble, again, and need a second set of eyes. Didn't have anyone else I know for sure would be discrete about it."

"Again I'd like to point out your extensive network of-"

"Not. For. This."

Gorion frowned. "I don't follow."

The ranger hesitated. "Please have a look at her. I need to know."

"'Her?'" **Déjà Vu threatened, as he recalled Tallix**.

"My cousin's kid." He jerked his chin towards the inn beside them. "Ain't nobody knows I have her, now."

_..._

* * *

_-Still Flashbacking!-_

Gorion entered the room behind Winthrop, slowly, and warily. The ranger went up to where a nanny—a plump and nondescript woman of Cormantyrian descent it looked like, but with a warm smile—had been watching over a sleeping infant. He spoke to her and sent her off for groceries, and when she'd left he leaned near the window to make sure she left the inn. Then he turned and, seeing how Gorion lingered near the door, he beckoned the mage inside.

"You don't trust her?" he observed.

"You know I'm a mite jittery right now, asshole? But kids need to eat and this one doesn't drink blood."

Gorion bristled slightly, but then did come closer and lean over to peer at the sleeping toddler. She was small for someone who belonged to such a big-boned family, with a slight reddish sheen to her chocolate hair. And she looked so happy with nap time that she veritably radiated an aura of peace and serenity.

"You think this child is a Bhaalspawn...? There isn't any outward sign whatsoever."

"Aye and the priests took one gander at her and said she were clean. Didn't smell a whiff of anything foul either, which is why I came to _you_. I knew better; Been in too many of those dungeons by now looking at fucked up kids and bloodied daggers, and I knew exactly what my coz had been up to down there. I... I _knew_ my coz. She was a clever broad, had a head for magic. But she was... she was mixed up about shit. Always had been, ever since the vamps.

Winthrop shook his head, and went to rummage among his things: "Used to say she'd wished she'd been turned, just so she'd know what it was like." He returned with a scroll, and offered it out to Gorion. "It's a spell to read a person's bloodline. Will it work for this?"

Gorion took it, and examined the runes. It was simply scribed, but functional. "The spell component is a pinprick of her blood. It works by divulging species, not individual identities, but... we are looking for the blood of a god, and I have been doing this long enough. It is not dissimilar from what I used to examine the... other Bhaalspawn children."

Winthrop looked nervous. He pushed his hood back, and knelt upon the bed, and the circles beneath his eyes suggested he had not slept in days.

Gorion looked him up and down thoughtfully. "What happened to her mother?"

"Put an arrow in her head," the ranger answered tersely, and then looked up at Gorion with a smile-that-wasn't. "She had a dagger in the air and was standin' over the kid the altar, still naked and with afterbirth everywhere."

"... I see."

"Yeah." He scooped the little girl up in both gloved hands, and turned her about. He drew a pin, and very likely tapped one of her tiny fingers with it. She yawned, but easily went back to bed. Would that Aegis had liked to sleep so much; she might have been an easier baby.

Gorion hesitated one last time, but then decided he would do this. He knelt beside the bed, and took the little child's hand in his. He sensed nothing of Bhaal's taint, but that did not guarentee anything: it might have been buried deep. He started to cast, and the spell was no short one; it took time for each new layer of information to settle upon him. At first he felt her most obvious lineage clearly: human. But then he could feel the individual ethnicities, twining together from the dawn of time, shimmering out into a great tree of infinite detail.

"Interesting..." Simple work was efficient work, sometimes, and this spell was finely made.

"What do you see?"

"A lot. But if he was her sire, it should soon be obvious, as half the entire tree should be missing or-" _Tainted_. Splattered out over the breadth of her ancestry was the stink of Death and Lies. His assimar ancestry led him immediately to the conclusion that she was a Bhaalspawn, but a moment later he was startled by how _faint_ the corruption was. How had this happened? She looked more like a child who had been conceived by normal means and then _cursed. _Perhaps, wherever her mother had lived, the Death God's influence had found difficulty in taking form? Perhaps she had been on Hallowed ground for much of the pregnancy- _that_ would explain it. But, even so...

"You were right, Winthrop. I can actually barely see it, but the taint_ is_ there and it is clear in its implications on who sired her."

The ranger straightened up, and looked away, and smeared a hand over his mouth.

Gorion blinked past the spell and the peered down at the little girl, whose plumpness and peachfuzz hair suggested she was scarcely a few weeks old. "Winthrop she... she is hardly damned. We held out hope for children much darker than she. With the right help, she'll-"

"Anything else in there I ought to know about?" he asked quietly. "She oughtta be at least an eighth elf."

Gorion hesitated, allowing the spell to retake his vision only just moments before considering that doing so might be a bad idea. For a brief moment he had a strong fear of being attacked: had Griswold _disliked_ the answer he'd just received, this would have been the opportune moment to... _dispose_ of the only other person who knew of it.

But Winthrop didn't move. And in the following minutes, Gorion was left struggling with the knowledge that he had become paranoid past the state where it might be considered healthy—even given his circumstances. The child's lineage, at least, gave him a puzzle with which to occupy his mind and pull free of this sudden despair.

"There..." Gorion frowned. "There is no elvish in this."

"No? Has ta be, I know her family tree on the mortal side."

"Yes, and the human ethnicity is absolutely right for your family, but she's not an eighth elvish. She's-" He blinked. "A _dragon_. She's an eighth _dragon_." He looked to the Ranger, who seemed just as surprised.

"_What_?" Winthrop sputtered incredulously. "There ain't no dragonkin in our lands, and surely not in the family. She's of the Twin's Barony, they're elvish descended. She... she couldn't be-"

"Winthrop, you've told me the story of your family's founding as a noble house. And didn't you say that one of the progenitors of the Twins family line was an 'elvish wizard'?"

"Aye, and that's exactly what I mean! He's still very much _alive_, thank you, and even visits the place from time to time. Helped a lot during the vamp crisis, lemme tell ya that."

Gorion felt like laughing, because this was almost _mundane_ by comparison to what they'd all been through, and yet objectively it was anything _but_. "Winthrop, I believe we may have just accidentally stumbled upon proof that your family contains a... _textbook _classic example of a long-lived shapeshifter of acute magical power using the go-to cover identity of 'an elf' to hide their own otherwise in-explainable lifespan. Has this 'elf' ever brought any of his own exterior family members to visit, or explained where he hails from?"

The ranger was quiet for a very long moment. "... Yer tellin' me he's actually a dragon. A shapeshifted dragon, hidin' out in elvish form."

Gorion couldn't help but grin at his startlement. Withrop frowned incredulously, but then got a thoughtful and suspicious look upon his face.

"... ... What... _sort_ of dragon are we talkin'? What color?"

"It was a metallic dragon, something of the goodly sphere..."

"But what _kind_, exactly?"

Gorion allowed his attention to solidify upon the bloodline in question. "I'm not sure. But if I had to place bets, it appears to be a Copper Dragon."

Winthrop set back. "Well! _That's_ a relief!" He heaved a sigh, as if the universe had deigned to make sense after all. Gorion looked to him in bewilderment.

"Now I'm almost afraid to ask. But, ehm, outside of the obvious positive moral implications inherant with her being signed by a metallic dragon... In what way ought this to be a _relief_?"

"Well the whole story! The moral of the story, of how Twins was founded! It was all about a woman who couldn't be beaten in combat by anyone, and who kept challengin bigger and bigger adversaries, but never found happiness that way! And how she ended up lookin' at it all wrong, and couldn't fall in love till she met this pipsqueak elf _wizard_! If ye'd gone and told me the reality was she just got sat on by a big Old Gold Wyrm, it've completely ruined _everything_ about the whole story! But you ever seen a Copper Dragon? They're _tiny_...!" He held up a thumb and forefinger.

"They stand three times as tall a horse, Winthrop..."

"Pah, that's nothin! That lass had a reputation for wrestlin' Frost Giants bare handed! Why, there's a White Dragon skull mounted in the bloody festhall, and they're bigger than Coppers! Coppers don't even bloody fight ya, just talk circles around ye and turn your hair green and ask ye riddles!"

"I'm... I'm glad you seem to have made peace with the subject of the dragon, and would like to express my admiration that your largely non-wizarding family has so much appreciation for stories where the moral is 'sometimes it's the brains that count, not the brawn.' "

"Sorta makes for an even better story _with _a Copper in it, actually..."

"What are you going to do now, though?"

The ranger fell quiet for a long time. Then he looked abruptly to Gorion. "Well, ye know of any taverns for sale?"

"You-? You told me you would only settle down with a tavern if you ever _retired_..."

"I killed her mom. Who's responsible for what happens to her next, if not me? I'm supposed to just... just leave her with anyone? Knowing she's got this day of reckoning loomin' some day in the future she ain't done nothing to deserve?" He leaned back, thinking. Then he shook his head, and laughed, and rubbed his face. "She looks like my sister, when she was born. _Just _like her."

Gorion was silent a long moment. Then he looked guiltily down at his hands. "... It has finally occurred to me why why you sought out _my _help." It appeared he was now at the center of a bunch of persons unexpectedly connected through love of... of children.

Griswold Winthrop, who ordinarily would have been described by anyone who knew him as 'dour', smirked, and threw an unexpected arm about Gorion's shoulders, and gave him a rough squeeze. "_Knew_ you'd come around."


	43. Only a Little Haunted

_**Only a Little Haunted**_

...

* * *

Aegis turned about to face them as Edwin and Imoen returned with bashful expressions. "There you are! Alora—"

"—that's me!—"

"... right... Alora told us there was a loose floorboard in the temple cellar that lead into the ruins, and then brought us to go have a look. And there was a lot of wine in there, so I was _sort_ of distracted at the time and don't remember much, but Kivan was with us and tells me it's precisely as she said. So get some sleep; we'll head in first thing tomorrow." She eyed Pink and Red for a moment longer and then shook her head. "Do you two take _every _random break opportunity to run off and have sex behind a bush somewhere?"

"Absolutely!" Imoen cooed while Edwin indignantly snapped a: "Of _course_ not!" And the two of them were at such a ridiculous dichotomy even in just that moment that Aegis couldn't help but find them both endearing.

Imoen grinned at him mischievously. "Wait, you _don't_ want that to be part of your reputation?"

Edwin turned scarlet to match his robes. "It-It would suggest a tremendous lack of self control and sounds patently immature!"

"You take that back, mister!" she jabbed at him with an accusatory finger. "Our absurdly high quantity and quality of sex is worth _boasting about, _and you can tell that to any drow clerics or woad-smeared fightresses who happen to ask!"

Edwin blinked rapidly and then squinted off at nothing for a moment. "Well, when you phrase it _that_ way..." he submitted helplessly.

Aegis stared at them for a moment, and suspected they were most likely tuned out of any greater contextual awareness of where this conversation was happening and would not even notice if she waved a hand in front of their faces. She glanced down to a bemused Xzar who appeared to be weaving sewing thread about curved sticks for whatever reason, and then gave a martyred shrug and lifted a 'why me?' expression to the clouds, and turned to go off and join Minsc in Kivan in finding a good place to pitch their tents for the evening.

...

* * *

While narrating her backstory to anyone who would listen—which basically involved broadcasting it for everyone to hear in the middle of the camp—Alora revealed that she always carried a lucky rabbit's foot, which she had received from her aunt-something-or-another.

Anyway, that was how Xzar ended up coming over to talk to her, after which the conversation rapidly diverged into two completely different lines of discussion which Xzar and Alora somehow held with one another simultaneously, each requiring no _actual_ input from the other–aside from eye contact and filler noise whenever a question was asked.

Kivan lasted for about fifteen minutes in the same vicinity, whilst polishing his halberd and gritting his teeth, before finally jumping to his feet, snarling out an inarticulate roar, stomping up between the two of them, and shoving a hand in each of their faces. "SHUT! UP!"

Aegis and Minsc jumped and looked up from where they'd been building the fire in surprise, for neither they or anyone else present had ever heard Kivan be so... _loud_. Edwin seemed just about to say something in Alora's defense, caught himself just in time, and then hurriedly looked back to his spell-book. Minsc looked to Aegis in concern because the universe was being confusing.

"That's mean!" Alora complained in muffle past Kivan's hand.

"Very mean!" an equally muffled Xzar agreed indolently (fortunately he did not bite anyone).

Kivan smacked them both upside the head hard enough to make them yelp, and then stocked off in an irritated fury, snarling things that made elvish seem so ugly that it probably would have caused a dwarf or orc eavesdropper to rethink any preexisting dislike for the language's aesthetics. He left behind two disgruntled crazy people who glared after him and stuck out their tongues in concert. (Edwin doggedly remained fixed to his book, despite how Imoen was grinning at him like a shark.)

Aegis watched the direction Kivan headed off in, and decided he _might_ not be back for watch... He looked to be heading out towards Gullykin, and she supposed he might stay out for the evening and see if he could catch any Kobolds or other monsters as they slunk out from their hiding places. Hopefully he'd be fine; even if the land around them felt... a little weird.

Aegis had been mentally prepared herself for another Ulcaster-ish experience down in Firewine, but it seemed this adventure would be operating on a more claustrophobic scale. By Alora's retelling the ruins were cramped for full-sized humanoids, and it was something of a wonder how an Ogre had gotten himself in there at all... And she'd no sign of any undead.

"Xzar," Aegis called, deciding that it was probably neglectful for her to leave him conveniently distracted but knee-deep in nonsense. "Will you help make dinner?"

Xzar nearly fell over, twisted about, and stared at her with wide eyes. Edwin and Imoen perked up in alarm and gave Aegis an equally wide-eyed expression. Minsc said: "Good idea!"

"Me?" the necromancer squeaked hopefully. "_Cook_?" For very good reasons, no one had ever let Xzar particularly close to the campfire at mealtimes. But—as he'd once demonstrated with the great success of Imoen's birthday cake—cooking and alchemy were not incredibly dissimilar; and his growing mental stability did give one room to hope he'd not slip in any well-meaning 'flavoring agents' without asking her first.

"Yes," Aegis drawled. "You can cook. I'm terrible at this, and our food is always bad, and Minsc is a darling for not telling me it's my fault for burning everything. Just make a promise not to do anything evil, okay?"

Xzar drew a big 'X' over his heart, and then scampered up eagerly to sit himself between her and Minsc. Imoen and Edwin shared mutual wince. Alora, now deprived of a conversational partner, came over to ask Minsc if he knew any good ghost stories; but that, at least, was a slightly saner conversation to listen to. And, anyway, Minsc seemed to fall in love with her almost immediately, and it was good to see him smiling what with Dynaheir still missing.

And since storytelling was happening, and involved ghosts, Minsc soon had another funny-colored thief and a Xzar listening to him, too.

...

* * *

Alora stole Boo sometime after dinner, an act which Boo was not at all okay with, and which had Minsc sternly reprimanding her. For all of... fifteen seconds. Then he was smiling and laughing and forgiving her and almost forgetting to insist she return Boo to his possession. _Almost_. Imoen had to remind Minsc that Boo was still chittering frantically in an effort to be returned to him.

Still, the nearly-successful-thievery drew Alora's attention away from Minsc for awhile and back about the group again, and she ended up returning to Edwin (of course, haha!) and Edwin, though he looked as if he'd swallowed an entire lemon, put his spellbook aside and politely listened to her chatter as he soaked up Excited Halfling Enthusiasm for the sake of the group yet again. Hehe.

Alora talked and talked and talked until she was heaving big yawns and blinking heavily, and then Edwin realized she hadn't yet pitched her tent. In a remarkable and entirely uncharacteristic show of Niceness, he had her guide him to her backpack and assisted her in assembling the miniature shelter. This was the cutest thing ever, and so Imoen decided not to tease him about it.

The rest of them prepared for bed, and Imoen went out to relieve herself. She hurried back because it was _creepy_ out there at night. Ugh, the wind positively _screamed_. On her way back, she found Minsc—who was settling in for first watch—and realized he was holding a _book _and staring at its pages quite intently. She tilted her head to the side, for the book was most certainly upside down, and saw by the title that it was a book of... poems.

Yes, poems.

Hmm! This was interesting! She scurried up to the log beside him, and set herself down. "What are you doing!" she chirped.

Minsc jumped, and peered at her almost guiltily for a moment. Then he heaved a great sigh, and showed her the tiny tome. Well, it wasn't _tiny... _it just looked small in his enormous hands. "Minsc is missing his witch," he confessed, "and thought about memorizing something... maybe a little 'romantic,' eh?" he blushed. "Something to explain how much Minsc cares about her, when-when she returns of course!" He swallowed. "Boo helped to pick out this book but... reading it is very difficult, even with the help of so fierce and intelligent a Hamster..."

"You can't read?" Imoen asked. Sometimes she forgot most people didn't have the education she had, and couldn't read or do mathematics, or any of that stuff. Imoen had been such a _poor_ student, too, she probably took it all for granted _twice_ as badly as Ae did.

"No," Minsc sighed. "Even before the h-head injury... Words were never Minsc's specialty. Minsc leads with swords! But... swords were not enough to make sweet Dynaheir stay."

Imoen looked down at the book. Then she reached over with a ginger wince, and took it from him, and turned it right-side up. She put it back into his hands. He stared blankly at it for a long moment, and then heaved a tremendous sigh.

"It's no use, is it?" he mumbled, and Imoen was alarmed to see big old crocodile tears beading in the corners of his eyes. "Minsc will never be able to do these sorts of things."

"Oh! Oh _no_, Minsc, no, no I'm _sure_ you can do this." Imoen hugged his arm and wished Khalid had been there! Khalid always knew how to cheer Minsc up! "What if I help you? _I _can read. And-and you know what else? I've a _lot_ of homework to work on. You and I can study together for a bit!"

"Little Imoen would do this...? Minsc is not sure he will impress her..."

"I... It's okay Minsc, I-" And just then Imoen had the most fantastic idea ever about how she was going to make this 'homework' thing backfire in Edwin Oddesseiron's face.

...

* * *

Aegis didn't manage to sleep through the night.

She woke up sharply from a cloud of threats, promises, and questionable council; with strange shadows all about her, seeming to tug at her. No, that was her imagination. She took stock of the interior of her tent, and of Xzar curled up in a bundle beside her. She reached over, brushing knuckles against his graham hair and sharp cheekbone. He didn't stir. The wind came in sharp lashes against the canvas. Still, her arms and nerves all felt jittery, and Bhaal's voice still lingered with both his insistence to use the 'tools' she had been given, and also his usual promise: You Will Learn. Perhaps she'd just go outside to work out all this excess energy. A walk about the camp and a cup of water might help her get back to bed.

She slipped her boots on and her cloak, looped her hatchet trough her belt because she never went anywhere without it, and slipped carefully out of the tent. A last glance behind her told her that Xzar remained asleep with his cat atop his back. _Heh. Sweet Dreams, Frazzled Fool__. _She dropped the tent flap and turned to see Minsc still on guard duty. He beamed at her, waved, and then went back to looking at—was that a book? Hmm. Well _that_ was odd. Perhaps Boo was helping? Though the poor Hamster was terribly nearsighted and only _barely _literate...

Well, anyway. Aegis traveled out a few dozen yards from camp, and set to pacing and swinging her arms back and forth. Urso found her and trotted alongside her, searching the path for any edible goodies. Memory of Bhaal's whispers drained out her ears as she exercised, and dissipated to nothing. She and Xzar had deduced his 'voice' was likely a part of her, embedded there to _influence_ her but without any real power or will of its own. The stronger she grew, the stronger it would appear, until she learned how to suppress or excise it. For now it was just something she'd have to live with.

She rubbed her tailbone and then walked about until she found a low-lying branch. She pressed her forearms up against it to steady herself, and then bent backwards. Her spine rewarded her with a few healthy cracks. _Ah._ Was it any wonder Ajantis wasn't particularly agile? Wearing platemail or riding horses for too long made a person forget how to _bend_. Simple stretches felt rejuvenating, particularly in such splendidly cold weather.

Eventually her dreams were a thing of the pass, and Aegis stopped to cross her arms and admire Gullykin from afar. It was a quaint and cute town that glowed warmly on its little 'plateau' over the surrounding land. The soil was good. The land was good. But the whole area shouted 'haunted' to Aegis, and with little wonder: The wind howled and screaming, and the trees were all brambles and thorns, and many were the stories of men who had gone missing in these winding ravines to show up raving months or even years later.

And while the soil was good for vineyards, the land was spotted with old ruins and forgotten tombs where the dead were reported to be disturbed and restless and roaming the countryside (Tombs that both Xzar and Imoen had been not-so-subtly trying to convince her to empty of their good, if never at the same time and absolutely not for the same reasons). Come to think of it, it was rather strange that Gullykin should be accosted by moral enemies and to worry nothing of skeletons or ghouls.

Hmm. The ranger leaned her arms over a branch and rested. The more she thought about it, the more Aegis thought that Gullykin felt protected from unnatural horrors. She wondered if that was her own imagination, or some blessing of Avoreen, or some property to halflings in general: that their love of home and hearth should offer a naturally insulative buffer against things like undead. She liked that last one, actually; it seemed poetic.

Urso hissed. An unnatural trickle of cold spilled over Aegis' shoulders, like a dozen ice-hold hands all reaching out to briefly touch her, to caress her arm and shoulder. It had _nothing_ to do with the wind, and all at once she knew she was not alone. She turned and lowered her arms quickly, staring off across the scrub grass behind her. At first she could not see what was amiss. Then she realized the ground was brightly illuminated under the full moon, but that numerous shadows crossed over it, long enough to be cast by men who simply weren't there. The wind built up around her, rustling her hair and the leaves about her feet, and in those small noises were _whispers_ seeking to be heard.

"What is wrong?" she asked, but received no answer. Her brow furrowed. Urso backed up into her, bristled with every hair puffed out to its furthest extreme. She stepped past him, and raised her chin. "Nimbul," she called. _Commanded. _

The shadows moved across the scrub with a quickness, likes streamers of black cloth. They swam to her and she turned about to see her own shadow more properly, and to see how the 'cloths' converged under the lip of her cloak. For a moment, they simply stewed there. Then they rose and trailed some distance away from her, and gained a vague and translucent shape: producing an ovoid head, the semblance of a hood and shoulders, and long, tattered sleeves.

"Nimbul," she repeated, because this was the closest thing it had to a name of its own, and failing to address it as a person felt rude. Or worse, _cruel_.

The shadow ragdoll twitched, and cocked its head to the side. The voice which rushed from it was a concert of whispers, with one male voice just slightly louder than the rest: _"Y-yyhhhesssss?"_

"What is upsetting you?"

The apparition split apart into several overlapping copies of itself, like a mage who had cast a mirror image spell. It was a composite entity, one which needed to reference many different parts of itself before determining the answer. After a moment, the images re-converged, and the shadow-thing turned its head to her with urgency.

_"Bounttyyyyy hhhunnnterrssss surroundingg ussss..."_

Aegis stiffened. Then she looked quickly towards the camp. "Shit." She grasped up her hatchet, waved a hand through the shadow thing that it might sleep, and took off at a run.

...

* * *

"EVERYONE _UP NOW!"_

Edwin was upright and activating a contingency loaded with protection spells before he was fully conscious. A good thing too, because the next thing that happened was an _explosion_ of colors painful to look at burst across the camp, uprooting several tent stakes and covering everything in a garish rainbow.

_Illusionist._

Arrows pierce the tent flank and thudded to the ground right in front of him. Edwin spat a curse, grabbed a handful Imoen's hair (What _couldn't_ she sleep through!?) and yanked.

"Aii! What? What-!?"

{Camp. Under. Attack!} he snapped, grabbing his robes and clutching them to himself as he peered out of the tent. Minsc was stumbling in disorientation from the color burst, and Aegis was momentarily staggered, but slid to the ground just beside her tent, where she grabbed up her shield. And not a moment too soon: another arrow came out of the darkness heading straight towards her, and landed hard on the shield; and just as a disheveled Xzar slithered out beside her, something explosive hit their tent and sent it leaping up in flames.

Alright then. Enough.

Edwin grasped a forming _Fireball, _stepped out onto the colorspray, and flung it. By the cries of alarm that echoed out fromthe dark he'd wounded someone; but there was no time to celebrate. Something hit him—what exactly?—and he staggered behind the tent and grabbed at his face, momentarily stunned and dropping to the ground. Cold! His fingers came were wet with blood, but the wound felt hotter than expected. It hadn't been an arrow and it couldn't have been enchanted and made it through his contingency. Oh. Of course. A non-magical slingshot bullet. This was smallfolk territory.

...

Imoen peered out of the tent just as their adversaries showed themselves: a man walked into the camp, fully armored in chainmail and swinging a sword casually in hand. A dwarf followed just behind him, and a cleric rapidly casting some kind of _Mass Fire Protection_ or so it looked. What was that tabbard he was wearing? Was that the mark of _Lathander_? Oh great, that wasn't morally confusing at all. Hmm, but not one of these three had the look of a mage, no sir, which meant there had to be a fourth still hiding out in the shadows

"Aegis of Candlekeep!" the leader called. "Know that Molkar has come to send you screaming straight back to the hells!"

Imm heard her sister ask Xzar something like, "What is it with every assassin we've ever met telling me their _name_?" But as it sounded like the necromancer was getting ready to cast or counter-spell something, he was unable to provide insight into such a splendidly silly question.

Molkar sauntered straight for Aegis, and came so quickly and fearlessly, that the ranger had to step out of her crouch to meet him. Just as soon as she'd done so, some kind of enchant bullet explosion hit the ground just next to her leg. She jumped backwards from the flames with a hiss. Edwin had gathered up the words and power for a Lightning Bolt, but then another magical bullet hit _their_ tent just as he made to step around it. Praise to Tymora he'd proofed it against fire 'just in case any silly Monkeys get any silly ideas...!'

...

Aegis surged forward to join Molkar in melee range, if only to make sure no more wizards/sling-shotters/whatever could risk throwing anymore magic at her; but almost immediately realized she was still in great trouble. Molkar was tall and hit hard, his dwarf companion immediately started moving about to flank her, her and Molkar's cleric remained tight behind his leader. They had a healer, and they had armor, and she _didn't_.

She traded hits with Molkar, but scarcely had a second to get back into the hang of using a smaller hatchet instead of a larger waraxe because _he_ certainly knew what he was doing, and he wasted no time in trying to get a good slash off at her arm or to put the tip of his sword into her shoulder! He just had to nick her a few times to try and wear her down—or, baring that, keep her distracted! She hacked back at the heavy strikes, trying to snare the edge of the longsword with the back of her hatchet, in a bid to disarm him.

"You're a fiesty one, kid!" he taunted. "But I'm death come for ye."

"No he iiisssnn'ttt...!" Xzar scooted his back up against her own, doubtless grinning to himself as he watched the dwarf slink into position. "Ready when you are, Beloved," he cooed; because while it would have taken her fifteen solid minutes to don her platemail, it had taken Xzar fifteen seconds to do the wizarding equivalent.

Aegis growled: "Counterclockwise, duck. Imoen!" And before giving Molkar or anyone else time to digest what all that might mean, she and Xzar spun to switch places, and she pounced on the encroaching dwarf with her shield leading.

Molkar grabbed for the unexpectedly proffered wizard and made to stab for the chest cavity. He punctured the mage armor by several inches and drove the blade tip into Xzar's shoulder, at least, as the necromancer did duck. But Xzar merely slapped both his palms flat against the warrior's chestplate, and rose-hued light blossomed over the metal; and then Molkar jerked back in alarm just as surely as if he'd been knifed, his face going gray.

...

Imoen rolled out of her tent unharmed and with Blacksun in hand, but as naked as the day she was born. She knelt in the snow in full view of the cleric, who actually paused to stare at her in disbelief, and then she loosed an arrow that—unfortunately for her—hit his _helmet_ instead of making it through the eye slit. Still, he stumbled backwards from the force of the hit; and after that his belt came loose and his pants fell down, and he tripped over them and fell to his bum in the snow, and yelped loudly.

"I got his purse!" Alora exclaimed helpfully from somewhere behind him.

"It is _freezing, Imoen__!_" Edwin shouted as he threw a lightning bolt over her head and straight towards where summoned dogs or wolves or _something_ were pouring out of the shadows beside her. She thought this funny advice because she was doing alright whilst Edwin looked absolutely chilled to the bone with just his robes hurriedly tied about his waist in a makeshift skirt.

But then she realized attack dogs were coming at her, and the last time that'd happened hadn't gone so well. She leaped to her feet with a squeak, and dodged a leaping hound just in time to see Super Raccoon Urso leap out of a tree and intercept the larger animal by the throat. He grabbed on and wrapped his whole body around the connection, and the dog went down and fizzled away to summoning smoke. Boo was not the only four-footed furry hero of the evening! (As Minsc would have put it, ha!) Wait, where was Minsc?

...

"RA!" Aegis slammed into the dwarf again with her shield, forcing him back another startled step as he sputtered a curse at her. Everything she knew about dwarves told her that trying to physically move one across the earth was a bad plan and never worked; but, then again, she was huge and had better footwork than most huge things dwarves fought, and Xzar needed her to keep him _back _for at least another couple seconds!

...

Xzar licked his chops as his own wounds sealed. He followed the fighter as Molkar dropped weakly to a knee; then he pounced. Molkar dropped his sword and grabbed at the wizard's forearms to try and stop him, to try and prevent the next spell from ever making contact. But Xzar was stronger than he looked. He clapsed both palms together, slowly, with teeth grit, about the man's throat. Paralytic energy hit the larynx and sealed up the throat, Molkar went rigid, and then began to asphyxiate, and Xzar hurried him along draining all the heat right out of him until ice was splintering through the soft tissue of his lungs.

...

The dwarf had had enough; he met Aegis' next shield rush with his own, nearly flipped her over his head, and then sank his axehead into her side with a wet splatter. "FOR GOODNESS!" however, signaled Aegis was no longer handling the matter alone. She dropped her hatchet. The dwarf tore his axe from her soggy ribs, and made to hit her again; and she caught it by the handle with strength she didn't know she possessed. For an instant she held him there in place, muscles bunched as tight as she could bunch them. Then Minsc had arrived at full sprint, with his claymor up in an overhand swing. The blow came down so heavy and yet so precise that it sundered the dwarf's armor from and, likely, his spine as well. He dropped like a large sack of jelly, and Aegis sank to all fours over his corpse, unable to think properly.

Somewhere in the distance she could hear a halfling or gnome or something _screaming_, because Kivan had come back, and he'd found whatever wizard had been taking pot shots at them from the dark, and clearly he wasn't happy about the whole 'ambush' thing at all.

...

* * *

"Why aren't you two death-crazed fools doing anything!?" a Thayvian voice wondered angrily. "We _have_ potions or at least you should cauterize-!"

"The bleeding has already stopped," a sharp Moonsea accent interrupted.

Aegis realized she had fainted, if only because her circumstances had changed. Minsc must have been the first to help her, because she'd been settled down onto his cloak, and it seemed the other had gathered around. How long had she been out? Seconds? Minutes? Someone had heaped logs on the fire. Aegis groaned and tried to reach out blindly to touch someone, anyone, but trying to do so pulled a muscle in her injured side and she nearly fainted again.

But bless him, she felt Kivan grasp her hand and squeeze reassuringly. He and Xzar seemed to be having a look at what had become of her ribs. The latter pet her hair.

"She's not coughing up anything and breathing sounds nice and clear," the necromancer reported. "Which means her lungs are quite fine."

"Her ribs are in half and she has a gouge in her at least a foot wide." Edwin sounded doubtful. Aegis appreciated his concern, because that description did sound quite awful.

But Kivan agreed with Xzar. "We shouldn't risk opening it again when she's already stable."

_Ah, and I'm too heavy to carry. _

A surprisingly audible little smack was heard, in time with a little 'eep!' "Touch anything again, and you'll lose a hand."

"Do not _hit_ our informant, you uncultured wild man, when anyone can see she has all the malicious intent of a half-baked muffin."

"Boo and Minsc agree that little Alora did not mean any harm, Sneaky Tree Friend..."

"They're agreeing; it's the end of times!" A pink thief called from somewhere near the fireplace.

"Hush you."

"Anyway, just reporting: the cleric's still out cold!" _Did we take a prisoner? That's unlike Kivan._

Xzar was trying to tease her cut ribs back-together as Kivan applied some small healing magic to hold the bone and meat in place. To half them working so carefully and quietly together was sort of funny. Aegis felt tears at her eyes from the pain, and swooned a little.

"Hnn. She really is stabilizing in this condition, herself? Did she eat any dwarves recently to consume their unnatural constitution, or is this something only Cyrite slaves do?"

The comment didn't go unanswered; Xzar rose to the bait, and the result was low and ugly: "I'll ask her about Kagain. Say! You're fatting up nicely, Edwin." But before Aegis could wonder if her group rule was about to be usurped in a spontaneous wizard's duel while she was incapacitated, she heard another smack. "Ow! Must you _touch_ me? Heathen! Leaf-For-Brains! No one's died to put you in charge, elfy, not yet! Eh-? Ai-! AI-!" his voice dropped to a tiny whisper. "Let go. I'm sorry, please let go, I did a bad...!"

By the sound of things, Kivan was probably doing little more than staring Xzar down while holding him uncomfortably close by the collar of his cloak. "Shut _up_. Your chattering is going to drive us all insane."

"Okayyyy, Kivan?" Imoen had hurried over to them, bless her. "Kivan? Xzar _is_ sorry, so please don't do that. There. And Xzar, don't even _joke_ about eating anyone, anymore, _ever again_, okay? Thank you. And _you_," she had apparently rounded on Edwin, "what was that? Don't provoke people like that. That had no place in the conversation."

Xzar whispered in elvish, perhaps quiet enough that only Kivan heard, [You have personal space and temperament issues!]

The elf didn't miss a beat: [You have issues.]

"Ae's really gonna be okay?" Imoen asked, and Kivan must have nodded.

"We need a wagon or sledge," Edwin assessed. "And perhaps a mule; unless the Rashemi should like the exercise."

"I'll get them!" Alora exclaimed. "I can see in the dark! Just wait here!"

"She's... she's going to steal them, isn't she."

"I thought that was a foregone conclusion," Imoen replied conversationally. "If the scary ominous weather doesn't eat her. Hey, if it's any consolation, it really is more like 'borrowing' this time, and it looks like whomever she 'steals' them from would have happily let her have them, anyway!"

Aegis opened her eyes again, and then took in a startled breath and reached out for Xzar, because she'd just remembered that something _new_ had happened. She caught the wizard's sleeve, and (though he seemed distraught) he leaned over her. "Moaratuk?" he asked.

"Can you see them?" she mouthed, staring off into the dark where shadows waved. "They warned me."

Kivan said more than asked, "Your ghosts."

Xzar glanced up at him and then smoothed hair from her face and kissed her temple. "Rest now, we will talk later. Shh... Sleep." He murmured draconic, and the world drifted away.

...

* * *

"Her bones are black_?_" Alvanhendar realized as he leaned over his patient. He had extended the shelter of his cellar to them for the evening in exchange for a few extra coin in the temple coffers, but this little detail surprised him.

"Well sort of," Xzar mused thoughtfully from where he was getting a pillow under her head. "More of a slate or graphite gray, don't you think?"

"Black as ebony," the halfling disagreed, prodding at the injury. "And t'were a cleric of _Lathander_ ye said was working with the party what jumped ye. The bloke ye brought into town and left wit the guards?" Kivan turned a cold, disbelieving stare onto the the halfling, and Edwin decided there was a significant chance the wild elf's temper had been stretched to its limits that day.

"Excuse me, but what are you implying?" the Thayvian came over with a snap shut of his spellbook. "Do her pigments somehow offend you, or do you deny healing to every mutt-blooded farmer's daughter who has a sliver of lizardfolk or ogre or whatever on one grandma's side or another? (Honestly, the people in this land.)"

Alvanhendar shot the Thayvian a look that suggested he would not be talked down to, and then pointedly looked him up and down.

Edwin crossed his arms, irritable with always being judged _untrustworthy_ for the red robes instead of simply _competent_. But then he took a deep breath, and clasped his hands together. "I apologize for my flippancy," he resumed strategically. "We were nearly murdered in our sleep for unclear reasons, and our leader is injured. We are merely stressed. If you wish to know our track record with local clergymen, Kelddath Ormlyr would vouch for her character."

"He sent a letter ahead o'time," Alvanhendar revealed, and with that he simply resumed the application of his healing upon Aegis. Crisis averted, then; or, at least, avoided? Hmm.

Edwin glanced to Kivan, who was settling down, and Xzar, who looked thoroughly distracted. He made a mental note that Vai, Xan, Ajatnis, Viconia, and Shar-Teel had apparently all seen Aegis whilst she was partially flayed, and that this matter of 'black bones' might come up again in the future. It was a trait Imoen did not share, perhaps lending weight to her belief that she and Aegis were somehow mechanically different. Would that he had books by which to conduct research at this juncture! Though the sour expression on Xzar's face might have told a story in itself, it yet reminded him that he was _behind_ in what he knew, and had no easy means of catching up...

Imoen crawled back up out of the hole to Firewine, and gave them all a thumbs up. "'Lora's gonna set up down there for the night to watch for kobolds," she said. "She and Minsc are knitting halfling earmuffs. Is Ae back in one piece?"

Aegis was mended but had yet to awaken, in part thanks to how their necromancer began spinning spellcraft over her head. "She needs rest and nightmares badly even when not weakened by blood-loss," Xzar explained when Kivan frowned at him. "Humans don't dream amidst magical Sleep. Hmm, not usually, anyway. Good point, I'll keep tabs, you're good at this."

Alvanhendar was washing his hands clean. "She'll be right as rain by morning," he said, and then blinked in surprise and turned about Imoen bounded up to him.

"Alvanhendar!" she gleed and pushed something into his hands. "I ran out the door with a bottle while rescuing my Thayvian earlier! He was being hugged and, as you may know, Thayvians are deathly allergic to affection. Please accept my apology, and the payment, and this raisin bread! (I baked it myself, back in Beregost!)"

Alvanhendar blinked at the gold, and the bread, and then eyed her suspiciously. "I know that look."

Imoen ducked bashfully and tucked her arms behind her back and rocked on her heels. "I'm really-really-really sorry?"

He stared at her a moment longer, and then grinned. "Aye, I know tha' look, too. Yer Griswold Winthrop's girl, aint ye? Don't look so surprised! I see em on ye. Keep an eye on all these dunderheads for me, eh?" He reached up to ruffle her hair, and then took a bite of that splendid raisin bread and headed upstairs to see what he could reclaim of a good night's sleep.

...

* * *

Kivan left to go stand watch out side, or perhaps to get away from the rest of them. Xzar discretely changed Aegis' clothes. Edwin sat by the staircase, carefully drawing protective runes in chalk to make sure no other hostile 'company' showed up this night or the next. He seemed to have something of an off-specialty in wards.

Imoen poked through the hastily gathered pieces of their camp, and the loot from the assassins. "There's no bounty notice," she reported. "Hey Xzar?" He looked up attentively. "So your tent is totally dead. And it's not coming back. Along with most of your bedding. I'll help you remember we need to find you a new one before heading back to Beregost."

Xzar looked at the tent, and then up at her, and then did chuckle at a realization of where her terminology had come from. "Thank you. I'm terrible at these sorts of things. Odd, given where I'm from, I know, but it's true..."

"You're _so_ _odd._" And then, because she was Imoen and couldn't help herself, she leaned over and ruffled the necromancer's hair. He smiled a little, and looked more bashful than anything. "What did you ever do before you met Aegis?"

"Sister requests storytelling? This wizard relied on Montaron for our trip here. Though admittedly the psychological affliction was worse then than it is now, and I really have no excuses anymore. Alas." He winked.

"I appear to be the only self-sufficient mage in this party," Edwin muttered from where he was paging through his spell-book. "The rest of you fools forget to eat, sleep, bathe, cloth yourselves and all matter of basic maintenance tasks. It is a wonder you are even toilet trained."

Xzar narrowed his eyes at the Thayvian but then looked back to Imoen. "Darling sister, if you ever don't want him anymore, make sure I'm the first to know."

Imoen winced. "Eh..."

Xzar drew back in surprise and then became crestfallen. "I tried to be playful instead of hostile, but it came out wrong, didn't it?"

Imoen nodded, and patted his shoulder sympathetically. "You're just really bad at being, um, human," she decided. "Most of the time you're just a much better necromancer than a human."

"Can I blame my upbringing?" he inquired, with a fond and nostalgic glance over at Pretzels.

Imoen was quiet a moment. "Okay. I've gotta ask. I have to. I'm me. You... said once that you were raised by a cat. Are we talking like a cat-person, or were-cat, or a Rakshasa or...?"

"No, just a cat-cat," Xzar replied awkwardly, and tugged at his own hair. "Or, well, I suppose she was at least half mountain lynx but the same basic implications apply."

"Soo... then how did you... learn to walk and talk and dress yourself?" Imoen fished suspiciously.

"Well I did a lot of people-watching but the answer that question is really: the wraiths," Xzar explained with a gesture upward at nothing. "As such, my first language is Auld Thari as most of them were thousands of years old."

Edwin looked over, fed up with listening as his apprentice was fed such tosh. "This is the most ridiculous hodgepodge I have ever heard. If even one word of it was to be believed, why wouldn't these wraiths have simply devoured you and the aforementioned feline?"

"The temple had been dedicated to Evening Glory," Xzar answered matter-of-factly, though it meant nothing to anyone.

"Who is she, and what does that have to do with anything?" Imoen prompted anyway, and Edwin shuttered his eyes at her.

"Evening Glory? She was a goddess of the undead, though I can't think of many places who even remember she ever existed. Or exists? I'm not sure. Allegedly, she used to be popular with bards, poets, vampires... Her creed was that beauty and love could survive the limitations of a moral lifespan... all anyone needed to do was gather the necessary components, pick the appropriate time—usually while still young and attractive you must understand—and her priests would help with a painless death, a careful preservation process, and a revival as a form of mummy or vampire."

Imoen straightened and wrinkled her nose. "Really?"

He nodded. "As you can probably tell, the people who worshiped her were dramatic, romantic, and slightly stupid. Like Garrick!"

"Hey! You leave poor Garrick out of this, he was a sweetheart," Imoen laughed.

Xzar smiled. "Her symbol was a hand pierced through in a shape of a purple heart, just in case you ever should see it. Anyway, her temples always had wells that drew from the negative energy plain to satiate the dead; and that was why our ruins had attracted a bunch of incorporeal undead, and why those undead were... sort of friendly. As far as wraiths go, anyway. Less soul-sucking, more aimless rambling. Similar contrivances are sometimes used in more modern tombs, in the event a spirit is restless and cannot easily be released."

Imoen tried to determine if he was joking or lying or remembering wrong or _what_. Then she tilted her head to the side. "That was your family? Your mom was a cat, and everyone else was a ghost?"

He thought about the question. "Until she died, yes. By about eight I was also being looked after by a wizard. I'm not sure if that counts as 'family.' It was close."

"What happened to her?"

"Age, mostly. She was a _cat_, Sister. These stories do not break reality's rules just for sounding so odd; and cats only live two or three decades at the very best. Over the course of her life she provided the things a living being needs: nourishment, affection, shelter, warmth. Fishing lessons. She was... very patient with the one kitten who took positively_ far too long_ to grow," there was almost a laugh in his voice. "I spent many formative years curled up with her, reading or otherwise. But inevitably I outlived her by a very wide margin."

Imoen sank back, realizing slowly that she had started to believe him. "Oh... I'm... I'm sorry, Xzar..."

He leaned back and clasped his hands around his knees. "You know, she actually passed away shortly after delivering her final litter, but all the bodies about her were stillborn and deformed. I sat there with her, and realized she had a bit of mange and... I hadn't been around to notice; I'd been too busy. I felt very guilty. Which, for me, is saying a lot..."

"... Is that where the story ends...?"

"...Not_ quite_ there, no. I realized something in her vicinity was still alive. So I searched all about her and found a single kitten that appeared whole. She wasn't moving, but kittens don't take their first breaths until the mother rouses them, so I cleaned her, and there in my hands she woke." He looked at his fingers wistfully. "And she was whole, and she lived. I named her '_Little Lady,_' though it swiftly grew to be a gross misnomer. Too many treats, you understand. I eventually made her my familiar to ensure she'd live as long as I." He glanced back towards Imoen shyly, sadly, and rubbed at the back of his neck. "But... that didn't happen, either..."

"This is a really, really sad story," Imoen warbled, hugging her own knees and smearing her sleeve over her nose.

He smiled through a caught breath of air, and glanced up at her face and then away again. "Most stories from the Moonsea are sad," he admitted. "It's different here. Not exactly friendly to necromancers, no but... I am growing to like it."

"Some places are 'friendly' to necromancers?" she mumbled as she wiped her eyes dry.

"Of course. Where I come from, or where he comes from," Xzar gestured loosely to Edwin, "a necromancer or diabolist is only feared insofar as they are respected. Maybe a _little _more than the average wizard, but it's not exactly a hanging offense on principle. My specialty is my pride and joy—that... does make it a little difficult to fit in here. But I shall do my best."

"You're-you plan on staying in the Heartlands? But what about after we stop the Iron Throne? Don't you have to...?"

"Leave? Why? Sister forgets this wizard's cards are played, his allegiances are spent, and he now has no home nor company to return to. By now it would be erroneous to call him 'a Zhent' unless one was referring to his cultural background." He smiled sadly. "This wizard can only say he is sorry for being so 'creepy.' He is working to be better, but the road is long and filled with perplexing distractions."

Imoen peered over at how Aegis slept deep and calm. Then she took a long look at Xzar. And, after a bit, she leaned forward, and reached out to a startled necromancer. He stiffened, utterly unprepared for this despite having traveled with her for months, and still she hugged him full about the shoulders and squeezed tightly.

Xzar held very still, because no one had ever hugged him but Aegis. For a few moments it was the best he could do not to leap out of his skin, scream or cast anything, especially with her temple so near to his jugular. But then, when nothing terrible happened, he slowly reached about the thief. And he hugged her back, just as tightly.

...

* * *

[Author's Note]

I never did finish drawing my 'Little Lady' comic. Had Xzar's Mother illustrated in it, though! Was amazed when people figured out where the tattoos came from, honestly...

'Till next time!


	44. Intellect, Wisdom, Charisma

Deciding to go with shorter chapter length for now; was cramming too much unrelated stuff together. Sometimes my characters just insist on taking their sweet time in _accomplishing anything, _and decide to go off on four-paged rants or prank one another first *sigh*. What am I to do with them people, they're making this take longer than it needs to...!

* * *

_**Intellect of the Scholar, Wisdom of the Sage, Charisma of the...**_

...

* * *

Edwin did not address her until Imoen had returned to his side of the cellar, and even then he only gave her a long, warning look. She nodded mutely. He glanced back in the direction she'd come from but did not turn around and instead returned his attention to his spellbook. Best they not have this conversation yet, even with the shield of Mulhorandi. They were in luck. Xzar eventually stood and crept out of the cellar to get some fresh air.

Edwin waited until they had heard him exit the premises. "He very blatantly is attempting to secure your pity."

"And it works," Imoen agreed with an exasperated toss of her hands. "I _absolutely_ pity him."

Edwin seemed annoyed at more than just her gullibility. "I am at a loss why I should even continue speaking with you, if you are not inclined to heed anything I say. Did we not just several hours previously hold a conversation about how you are—and should be!—afraid of him and suspicious onto his every intention!?"

"I _do _fear him!" she flopped over with a dramatic huff, and kicked her feet aimlessly in the air. "I just pity him _too_. Have you ever seen that man's face when Ae's mad at him? It's like his whole world just broke and he blames himself. _Blah_!

"And so you coddle him, as if that is not _precisely_ what he _wants_. Is it so easy to secure your affections? Does it but take one outpouring of private history or emotion? I see now how even the traitor halfling stumbled into providing sufficient dramatic nourishment to pique your interest."

Imoen blinked, flopped back upright again, and frowned suspiciously at him. "That's jealousy." Her eyes widened and she pointed at him accusingly. "That's jealousy it is. That's why you were upset when I was writing Montaron. You wanted to know you were special to me, and I looked like I were showin' him similar kindnesses."

He twisted about to face her angrily. "Were I to dignify that with any response I'd need first point out we weren't even yet together at that junct-!"

She clambered forward and grabbed one side of his beard to drag his head down, that she might kiss. Smooch!

He glared down at her with tight-lipped irritation.

"Well," Imoen drawled. "Maybe we _were_ but didn't know it yet."

He kept glaring.

"Are you okay?" she asked him softly. "Or is this one of those rare moments you really do need to hear me pour my heart out? Cause I got a speech on the topic I'm hiding up me left sleeve, saved for a special emergency, and I can't go spendin it too early or it'll fall on deaf ears." He watched her face. A silence passed. Then he looked away first, and down. Imoen didn't pull back immediately, running her fingers up the side of his cheek. "Monkey loves you, Dragon." He looked back at her. A blush crept rosy into her cheeks, because she wasn't just teasing. "You make _her_ feel special."

He rolled his eyes a little, but then sighed mutely and smirked down at her. He tapped her chin. "Very well, but this is not about _me_. Back to the topic, distracted imp," he steered her her head manually towards the cellar exit. "The necromancer. If you cannot gird yourself with even bare minimum survival instincts then... well, then you might as well go ahead and indulge him in further conversation from here on out."

"Really? That's a complete one-eighty." He nodded. "You're hoping I might be able to discourage him from doing anything bad? Or just that he'll slip up and say something useful to me?"

"Or he might try and plant a red herring; any way, it at least frames the game in a context where you are not entirely useless."

"Say! Thanks for the vote of confidence?"

He shook his head and leaned back with his spellbook. "A 'team' has its balances and counterbalances. I am the Thayvian and seven years your senior; I have the wariness you lack, so_ I_ will help watch your back. Presuming, of course, that you are wise enough to stay in sight..."

She perked up, thinking about this. "And I'll be the nice one who keeps everyone from hating us?"

"Something like that." He smirked but then raised both brows and flicked his hand towards the cellar entrance. "Only heed me now and be especially careful not to end up alone with him for the next few weeks. Uktar grows late."

Imoen blinked. "Okay. What for, though?"

"Samhain," Edwin frowned at her. "Tch. Of course: the classic and non-overlapping split between your knowledge and your sister's. Whilst she's memorized a complete history and geography of the Realms _despite_ being handicapped by the intelligence of an orc; you, with your magnificently powerful eidetic mind, have memorized... trashy novellas in forty-odd languages."

"And lemme tell you, Mulhorandi has a complete dearth of trashy novellas. Like, none. Hey, wait! We should write some. No, really! Do you realize how much money we could make suckering emotionally retentive, lonely, psychotic Red Wizards into reading long formulaic, elaborate, prose about a wizard's sexual prowess being matched only by the potency of their invocations and/or standing armies? They'd be stashing them under their beds by the dozens. I mean, you'd need a pseudonym of course..."

"..._The Feast of the Dead_ is a bad holiday for picking fights with necromancers."

"You are absolutely thinking about our hypothetical series of trashy novellas. We'd write an entire new vocabulary of fantastic euphemisms! Their titles would be horrible, eye-roll inducing things like: 'A Night of Fire,' 'Mistress or Marriage,' and 'Taming the Demon _Within_'!"

"I'm nearly crying over here, and I cannot tell whether it is from pain, laughter, or shame..."

...

* * *

Kivan stood just outside of the temple, arms crossed, still as the trees. He did not turn to look as Xzar exited the door or slowly meandered over to him. No, his gaze was affixed to a place many meters away where a large black dog stood motionless in the lantern light. The wind was biting, and Xzar clutched his arms about his midsection to stave off the cold.

"Who is she?" the necromancer asked softly, almost reverently.

So, Xzar could suddenly see it. "It's not a 'she.' It's neither male."

He looked doubtful. "What is it, then?"

"A warning," Kivan answered.

"Are black dogs then an omen of death in your culture as in mine?" Xzar wondered.

Kivan did not want to be talking with anyone, much less the necromancer. "The last time it came to me, a girl was being eaten alive by one who yet calls her 'Beloved.'"

Moonsea eyes flicked up to him, as if spooked. "That was why? _That_ was how the elfy made it in time?"

Kivan sneered.

"Elfy... _Kivan_... This wizard knows he did not save Aegis that day. _You_ arrived on time. _You_ saved her life. I owe _you_. You and..." he gestured towards the hound to indicate not _it_ in specific but rather whatever entity had sent it, "... your wife?"

"I do not take things such as you into my debt, crazed and paper spider. I have no pity for anyone, save to light a match with which to end your struggle. But instead she stays our hands, to let you your poetic end: as you spin round and round, knowingly weaving your own noose."

Xzar straightened up and pursed his lips thoughtfully, eyes shuttering. "Is that what you think?" his voice gushed. "Well then, _Shar_ give me patience; Perhaps I am here because you and I need to have a talk about 'spiders.' You seem to deny that what is dead is rotting."

"Keep your maddened tongue in your head."

"I am trying to have a conversation with you!" Xzar complained. "Do you think I waste my limited sanity baiting fights? (As if I were a Thayvian.) _I_ love Aegis, too, O' Self-Righteous One. And it seems I am not the only one who can conflate poetry with foresight."

"You pick the word 'love' because it is _useful_," he looked the necromancer at last, "not because you understand its meaning."

"I'll take a second opinion." Xzar stared at him for a bitter moment of silence. "Tell me, Kivan," he then growled with a biting gleam in his eyes. "Which emotion is stronger: Your love for your wife, or your hatred for Tazok?" The elf bristled in surprise. "Hm? Which do you remember most about?"

Almond eyes narrowed. "Do not profane my wife by _speaking_ of her."

"Would that I could! I'd do it onto so many. Hate for him is now all that you can feed; she isn't there to touch or to taste, and love for her now eats and lives vicariously only through growing hatred of _him_."

Kivan aggressed, stepping forward with a glare. "I am giving final warning."

"Before you do _what_ to me, exactly?" the necromancer giggled. "Do you think it is fair that _you_ get to threaten people with your bare hands, but I don't? For some reason, people get so _very offended_ should I try..."

That bought him some time, as Kivan tried to decide whether he'd raised a valid point.

"I don't think you have a problem with spiders, Kivan, though I think the elvish god _Sheverash_ does—and Aegis tells me he is your patron." Kivan stepped towards him, but Xzar raised a hand prohibitively and stepped back. "Be _patient _you violent ingrate, I am not _mad_!" he spat. "Open those enormous ears and listen for _fifteen seconds_ and you might learn something! I offer the council of one who knows well what it is like to be gnawed on by a deity!"

The ranger paused, eyeing him up and down and likely determining just how easy it would be to break his arm before he could cast anything.

"Stop looking at me like an _obstacle_. I am trying to tell you this: That the easiest way to steal a soul's allegiance is to promise it things when it feels it has _lost everything. _Vengeance is the _number one_ selling item from the glistening peaks of Celestia to the depths of _Hell_. So if Sheverash is the only reason you are alive, ask yourself why you venerate him if he _intentionally denied_ you the peace of death just to make himself a soldier of vengeance from your flesh. Is Tazok's life worth your soul? Worth _hers_? Because you drag her with you, and the more you drink of this cup, the more you'll be his; and you will live many, many, many centuries after her death, raiding drow cities, deprived of sun, and forgetting what life ever used to be like. If becoming his living avatar is something you _wish for_, then do it _knowing-"_

Kivan lunged so swiftly Xzar did not have a moment to spit Draconic; he grabbed the necromancer's throat and shoved him up against the temple. He expected Xzar to activate an emergency spell or even to draw a knife, but the necromancer kept both hands up and open. He barely even squirmed, though Kivan held him there long, and roughly, and deprived him of air. Moonsea lime-green eyes watched him as if more _annoyed_ or _amused_ than anything. Kivan sneered.

"Stop. Talking." He released the wizard, who crumpled to the ground and coughed hard, and he looked to see the black dog was gone. With a shake of his head, he turned to leave.

"_Icca."_

Fingers snagged the ranger's leg from behind, and he managed to whirl half around before the _Ghoul Touch_ paralyzed the functional muscles of his body and left him rigid in place. Xzar leaned back against the temple and draped his arms over his knees, studying him; Kivan raged, but could not move. Xzar sat there, breathing deep. Kivan hated him.

"You and Aegis are important to one other," the necromancer decided at last. "Whether because of kinship through Death or kinship through Nature; I doubt it matters in the end. You are to her what Jaheira failed to be: a woodland-themed almost-replacement for a dead father." He leaned his head back against the building, and sighed. "And yet still you run off at the slightest provocation, as if none of that matters. Not this time, though. There are still assassins out there, Kivan, or your wife's omens would not have lingered here in the first place and attempted to keep you from leaving. So do not glare so, as if I don't _care_."

Xzar stood slowly, rubbed his throat, and eyed the darkness. Then he reached casually over to lay a palm against the ranger's head, and pushed him over. THUD.

"Or as if I somehow defiled the spirit of our 'truce' by using magic, when you were just _choking me_."

...

* * *

Imoen fell asleep as if sleep were her profession. She had no sooner crawled up to Edwin and draped her ridiculous pink self across his legs than he felt her breath level out and knew she was out cold. He glanced down at her past the side of the spellbook. She'd commandeered his thigh as a pillow again. He settled a hand on her, and rubbed pink hair between thumb and forefinger as he returned to study. Not that the hour wasn't late, but he'd never been particularly good at sleeping immediately after an _assassination attempt_. At least one of them would be well-rested by morning.

He did not notice as Minsc. He did not see as the Rashemi climbed quietly out of the ruins, and replaced the floorboards. He heard nothing as the ranger came up behind him. But he certainly heard:

"Stab. You're dead."

Edwin lunged forward so roughly that even The Goddess of Sleeping woke up, sputtering a: "Hnffba?" as she looked blearily around. Edwin spun about and stared up in wide-eyed astonishment, for the Berserker had _somehow_ snuck directly up behind him without triggering any wards. Jackal, through their bond, informed him this meant Minsc was _not presently hostile_. But as Minsc straightened up and _laughed_, laughed to shake the ceiling, Edwin could only sit there frozen in shock: handicapped in strangling an internal urge to fling spells he absolutely could not retract and had never in his life previously been expected to withhold.

"Haha!" the berserker accused, pointing at him. "The look on the Evil Wizard's face is justly fitting given his crimes!

"Get away," Edwin croaked.

"What! Boo, does this floor belong to Thay without you telling me?" the ranger questioned. "No? You are _quite sure_? Then does this wizard of foulest temper and loosest morals think _his_ promises are better than ours, Boo?" He looked to Edwin, and leered. "Well Minsc has also made a promise: A promise to defend this team of Goodly Folk, and to bring Swift Butt-Kicking to Evil-Doers who would _threaten it_! And you, Evil Wizard, _you_ have threatened Minsc's Wych enough times to dig a grave with. But," he leaned back and gestured calmly that he was prepared to forgive all this, or at least overloo it, "Minsc has also made a second promise unto our great leader: that he will not _kill_ even His Most Spineless Foe unless He turns upon us a final time. And that promise should be as good as any."

"Get away," Edwin repeated, as Imoen fumbled to grab his shoulder and discourage spellcasting. "Or I will-"

"Do what?" Minsc asked with a doubtful grin. "Does the Evil Wizard know much useful magic like color bursts and walls, filled as his head is with crosses and double-crosses? He knows only how to kill, and Minsc does not die so fast as that. Or does he wish to test Minsc's claim? Eh? Oh, what Boo?" He looked to his shoulder. "No, Imoen is right here, we cannot-What? Oh. Okay." He looked back to Edwin. "Boo beseeches Minsc to retract this almost-threat-joke, because the Evil Wizard is dumb and may take it for real!"

"Excuse-!"

"Just as he was too dumb to realize sweet Dynaheir never wanted to fight him; or that he was in love with his own best friend even after months of snuggling with her like that was normal Evil Wizards. By the way, he does not deserve her, she is too good for him. But still stands Minscs' claim that the Evil Wizard is as unarmed in wits as he is in swords!"

Edwin's lower jaw drooped and his brows came together incredulously.

"See? Nothing! Ha! And is it any wonder _Edwin Odesseiron _is spineless when matched against so much larger and more virile opponents, eh, Boo? So we shall _pity him_ in his _smallness_, and his inability to operate a sword properly. Though we are apologetic to Imoen on his behalf, and will gladly mention her to stronger warriors at Ice Dragon Berserker lodge if she should ever ask." And with big a wink at the pink girl, Minsc turned and went to go find his book of poems and sit outside with Kivan.

Silence reigned as he left. Imoen slowly turned her head and looked to Edwin, who appeared as if his mind had just leaked out of his ears. "What in the gods' names just happened?" her Thayvian mumbled quietly. "He successfully pronounced my last name, and delivered insult by pun..."

"Um."

He caught her gaze, and then he was far too smart not to understand that she must have had something to do with this. He propped himself fully upright, and stared through her. "What. Did. You. Do."

Imoen started snickering. "Y-you remember what s-spell you were making me transcribe...?" Then she couldn't stop snickering, and slowly fell over and covered her face with both hands. Betimes she was outright howling with laughter, Edwin had obviously figured it out, because he was starting to prepare a dispel and she was feebly grabbing at his arms to try and stop him even whilst nearly asphyxiating on her own giggles.

One thing was sure, Edwin wasn't the only one who needed her to learn a Wisdom-enhancing spell to match the Intellect-enhancing one.

...

* * *

"Why is Jumping Tree Friend on the ground? Did the trees betray him, Boo?"

Kivan scowled from where he lay on his side, struggling through the paralysis prematurely, but not yet entirely free.

Xzar stood up from where he was leaning, dusted his trousers off and headed inside. He pushed through the temple doors and then quietly descending into the cellar. Imoen was laughing hysterically at the result of her latest prank, and a Red Wizard grabbed at her, snarling curses in Mulhorandi. In a poetic twist of fate, she ended up squealing at an unexpected time and revealed to Edwin her greatest weakness to date: she was ticklish about the waist. A moment's pause: two people stared at one another in surprise. Then the argument dissolved into a childish grapple between someone who had no skill in wrestling and someone else who couldn't catch her breath long enough to win.

Ah, puppy love.

Xzar went to where Chamomile Death was sleeping. He threw extra blankets over her, and roused her. As she winced and mumbled groggily, he pulled her arm over top of himself, and curled up in the safety of her. Aegis obliged him, and hid the too-bright world away for a short while.

Time to go back to bed.

...

* * *

When Aegis awoke it was with an agitated Necromancer curled up beneath her right arm and breast. He had something sticky and fibrous in hand and was repeatedly sticking it back together and pulling it apart. "Xzar?" she mumbled, glancing slowly about at her sleeping party and at far too many kegs.

He jumped slightly and then greeted you in a high-pitched and cutsie whine: "Why good _morning_ Eegee!"

She lifted her head with a furrowed brow, and then rolled off of him of him with a groan. "Oghma. What happened?" She rubbed her face in a big circle and yawned.

"Things! Horrible Things! Nasty, gnashing, _colorful _at times but a bit too bearded at others. Ooh! I think I picked the question to the answer properly! Don't you?"

"Mnnhmm," the ranger rumbled, sounding amused and resigned. "C'mere, Kettle."

She dragged him over top of her, and he squeaked and thrashed about in an effort to regain his bearings. But she chafed his arms and sides, and slid strong fingers along the muscles of his neck and shoulders. Some of his anxiety drained out slowly, and he went from a rigid bundle of matchsticks to a calm puddle of ooze.

"Let's see..." Aegis yawned again, tried to remember events for herself. "We were ambushed. There was a wizard, and a cleric. You and I swapped places. You took out the ringleader while I distracted the dwarf."

"And then _Thucklph!_" Xzar made a very accurate sound with his mouth and hands; that was indeed exactly how it had sounded.

"And after that I had to be brought back to town." Which was saying something... In all her fight, Aegis hadn't once been knocked unconscious by anything, not since the day she'd first found out she could be pushed into a berserker trance and had torn apart an ogre with a fracturing hatchet and the hilt of a splintered sword. "Am I healed?"

"Yes! Wait." He raised a finger, frowned suspiciously, and then twisted about and lifted up her shirt on the side. His ranger kept a supportive but gentle hand at the small of his back so he didn't fall over. "Oh good, the mending didn't wander away in the night. That happens sometimes, you know. They get bored of people, mendings."

"No they don't," she disagreed with a comfortable yawn.

"Oh? Hmph! Look who thinks she's all clever and learn-ed," he taunted. "Well I'm a _wizard_ you know, I _know things_. And you're just a silly know-it-all-that-isn't who doesn't know pointy things should stay out of her chest cavity, you know."

She frowned thoughtfully. "But axes aren't pointy, they're broad."

Xzar shuttered eyes at her. "I think you are missing the_ broad_, missy."

Ha! She smiled to show teeth, delighted by the wordplay of this terribly insane man she had coiled up atop herself. It was funny to think she'd liked every Xzar she'd ever met, sometimes even for different reasons. "I'm sorry, you're right. Is my lack of self-preservation what has you so upset?"

He pursed his lips and thought about it, but then glanced up and down and rapidly began tearing at the little ball of fibrous tack—or whatever it was—that he'd been toying with earlier.

"Xzar?"

He shook his head like a rattler's tail. "I don't remember. How can you tell? How do you _know_ I'm upset? I don't even know that. Maybe you're just crazy or insecure and make up things of import just to trick us all into believing you are wise."

She clicked her tongue and affected offense. "You _wound_ me, Madman."

His eyes flew open wide. "Lies and slander! I didn't, not this time, it's not true. I'm sure!" He jerked himself shakily up and made as if to intentionally gag himself and induce a vomiting fit, so she grabbed his hands quickly and kept them away from his mouth. He fought against her almost instinctively, with little squeals, so she grabbed his shoulders and spun him about, and he landed with a bewildered oof. She hugged his back to her, and nuzzled into the nape of his neck. He floundered, trying to sit up.

"W-where have my robes gone?" he demanded at last, and gestured to his legs with a level of affront better reserved for mermaids. Totally undeserved, given how splendid those knee-high boots still were. "This is _unseemly_. How will anyone know why to fear and loathe me without them?"

"You are busy diversifying your already considerable portfolio of professions with the newest addition of 'rogue.'"

He scoffed. "I would never, ever, _ever_ do that again. Monty ruined it for me. Besides, the chronology imposed would be erroneous."

She laughed. "Okay, then, you wanted the outfit for our trip into Cloakwood. And you got giddy when I told you how much I liked the look of your legs."

"That does seem familiar." He considered this, and rolled slightly back to peer at her. "Like drumsticks, or like pork knuckle?" he wanted to know, precisely.

"A_ha_. There's an explanation for what's bothering you." Aegis gave his flank a pat to indicate he could worm away as he chose now, and she sat up, slowly. He did not scoot apart from her but instead sat close between her legs. She leaned over to kiss his temple, and he pouted a little.

"Why do you always know what's going on when I don't?" he grumbled. "It can't be so, you never know what's going on when I do."

Aegis smirked at him and asked effortlessly: "Why is there dark only in the sky when there's no light, and light only when there's no dark?"

He opened his mouth to answer with a finger raised to point with, but then paused and reconsidered. "I like that," he decided. "That was a nice, clear way of putting it, with lots of fuzzy on the side. You aren't thinking of bardhood, are you?"

"Heavens forbid. Haven't you heard me sing when I'm drunk enough?" Aegis was alarmed. "I don't think I'm remotely on-key, am I?"

"You're completely tone deaf and sound like a dying whale, but your enthusiasm does charm better than the Uthgardt woman's. Or is that the Nymph's Cloak? Hmm. Now _Branwen_, there is a good drunken singer! Xan doesn't know how lucky he is."

"I think he does." Aegis sidled up beside him so they were bumping elbows and shoulders, and surveyed the sad state of her camping equipment.

Kivan looked to be trancing somewhat menacingly whilst leaning into the wall beside the cellar entrance. That he could do so _on his feet_ was more than a little impressive. But slightly more impressive was the fact that Edwin seemed to be perfectly capable of keeping Imoen from stealing all of the duo's blankets, which suggested he was just a bad a thief of them as she was. Aegis hadn't known such a thing was possible. Either way, the magicking couple was curled up against a pillar in enough comforters to make a queen jealous.

"Do you think," Xzar was trying to determine, his mind wandering, "that Shar-Teel—at least once—ended up the subject of unsolicited snuggling whilst rooming with her?"

"Oh, at _least_ once, and it probably made her secretly happy," Aegis agreed. "But don't you dare suggest it to the woman herself, or I'll be putting her in timeout and mopping up your brains off the floor." By contrast, to see _Edwin_ burrowed that contentedly into another living being—when he detested interpersonal contact—suggested Imoen had filled a very sizable and previously unrecognizable hole in his life. Which meant some difficult decisions would be coming up for all of them in the near future; but perhaps those were best not confronted just _yet_.

"Mn. Am I crazy, or-"

"_Yes_," Aegis answered firmly.

The necromancer scowled at her for daring to interrupt his train of thought, because now he had no idea what he'd been talking about or asking or whatever. She leaned over and kissed him gently to mollify him. He pretended to pout. She grinned, and stretched, and noticed Coffee-the-celestial-sugar-glider was 'talking' to Jackal-the-infernal-fruit-bat. Speaking of _odd_ _couples_...

The two semi-nocturnal familiars were in the middle of the cellar and communicating wild stories to one-another in pantomime whilst Pretzels looked on with great interest and occasionally poked at one of them without claws in the hopes they'd play with her. Jackal, who was probably still heavier than she just by virtue of being a very large species of bat, kept disinterestedly thwacking her in the face with a wing to discourage her. With time she went off to play with magelights that had been left floating about the chamber by—if the color was any clue—Imoen, the night before.

"Ehm, Xzar? Your cat is going to end up hunting everyone else's pets unless you do something to discourage her."

Xzar squinted at Jackal and tried to decide if this was a bad thing or not. Then he remembered that Imoen's familiar was rather snack-sized and snack-shaped, too. And, anyway, Jackal could be re-summoned in the event of an untimely 'accident'... but Pretzels could not be. "I'll bring the matter up with her grace," he decided, and then giggled when Pretzels pounced a magelight and went rolling off with it. "Well!" He clasped his hands together. "Ready for some ooggrre hunting today, Mummy?"

"I am _always_ ready for killing ogres." She made a disgusted face at an imaginary ogre, and he beamed at her. "Feeling better, Fool?"

He leaned against her shoulder and twiddled his fingers in the air. "Maybe, maybe. Oh! Mummy told me a 'them' warned her. Of the things. The horrible gnashing things." He gesticulated two handfuls of stabby fingers chomping at each-other. "Who was 'them'?"

Aegis straightened thoughtfully. "Is this area haunted, Xzar?"

"_Quite_," the necromancer agreed with a sensuous deep breath and a lick of his lips. "Moaratuk can sense that? _Delightful_. This wizard smells vestiges buried beneath the soil, not so deep from here...!"

"Alright, then 'Moaratuk' will talk with everyone come evening. Like you said, we've an ogre to worry about."

"Oh on that matter: May I have his spleen when you-and-elfy are done with him? I mean, if there's a spleen left by then. I won't hold a destructive despleening against you; they're quite effective. Notice I didn't say 'efficient.' E-F-F words are very versatile, like that..."

"Of course, Xzar."

"Of_ course_? Just like that? No argument? No conversation? Ooh-hoo-hoo...! Sweet _Beshaba_, Ee, my whole world _lied_ to me about the sneering and yellow-livered intolerance of Western People...! Or just you; but then you're an Oghmite raised by a Harper so they were definitely wrong about _something_."

"Anything else?"

"Mn? Oh. Well, now that you _mention_ it..."

"Do keep in mind two things: one, that anything you take must be portable, and two, that Imoen is never, ever, _ever_ going to let you use her bag of holding."

"Sad, that. I could store an entire army and pop it out of a bag at a whim... Where did she even get an bonafide Bag of Holding, by the way? Magic Bags are common, but... Well, story for another day."

...

* * *

[Author's Note]

If anyone deserved to take a dump on Edwin for once...


End file.
